Destruction
by AndImTheQueenOfSheba
Summary: COMPLETE - Hannah Montana is an industry manufactured popstar. She's perfect in the eyes of everybody for no reason. She didn't get herself where she is, it was them. She did nothing to earn her reputation, but that's about to change.
1. Chapter Uno

**_I'm writing something serious. That's right! I'm through being funny! At least for now, that is. I found that people like serious stuff more. Either that or I am so incredibly unfunny that people just hate all my"humorous" stories. Actually, my biggest reason for writing this is that I want to do something different. I don't wanna keep doing the same thing. So I'm doing this!_**

**_I assure you this chapter will have the most OC stuff out of all the other chapters. I've just got to introduce the characters, and then it will have a whole lot to do with this category.

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I read an article in this magazine once, and it said that children whose parents split up before they are in high school end up more screwed up than your average everyday embarrassment to the human race. As much as I hate to say it, I fall under that category. I'm not good in school, although if I paid attention I might be. I'm not good at sports, I don't help people, I cuss too much, I don't give compliments, and if I joined SADA (Students Against Drugs and Alcohol) they'd kick me out.

Most people don't realize that they are bad people, but I am one hundred percent, completely aware. I just have too much fun being mean, I must say. I have too much fun fighting with my parents, smoking in the girl's bathroom at school with my friends, going to parties and getting trashed. I know my hobbies have probably murdered half of my brain cells, but it's not like I ever had the potential to be the CEO of some big company, even way back in kindergarten, when I was a "good person."

I'm pretty sure my mom knows what I do with my friends, and, as far as I know, she doesn't care. My mother might as well be a prostitute though. Her relationships last about a week each, and I'm not sure she even knows the guy's name by the end of it. He always buys her some drinks, sleeps with her, buys the groceries, sleeps with her, pays her bills, sleeps with her, and then he gets kicked out. She's got this whole system worked out. It's just what she does. I don't know _how _my dad ever married her. He's the complete opposite. He's incredibly shy around women, and probably hasn't gone on a date since he and mom split up. He's this supposed good person, but I know for a fact that he cheats on his taxes and steals fruit from the grocery store.

Nobody's really a "good person." We're not perfect. If there was, per chance, a good being of the human variety out there, they'd probably get shot. When you try to be perfect, you annoy people.

"Good people" just irritate me. And not just the people that have such a high opinion of themselves. The ones that _really _drive me nuts are the ones everybody _else _thinks so highly of. I've been suspended a number of times for giving a black eye to the homecoming queen, or breaking the captain of the volleyball team's arm. I can't really help how worked up I get around them, I just do. They've got it coming anyways. They always insist on rubbing in all our inferior faces just how perfect they are.

What really bothers me is celebrities. They've got their airbrushed faces all over the magazines, just screaming at us, "I'll always be better than you!" I avoid going to the grocery store just so I don't have to see the cover of Glamour, or Seventeen, or any other magazine that has set out to destroy the confidence of all us misfits.

Neither me, nor my friends, have ever pretended to be any better than we are. We know what we are, and were satisfied with that. A year from now, I'll probably still be cutting last hour, sitting in the bathroom in the abandoned basement of the school with Carrie, Vicky and Danni.

"Hey Steph, you have a light?" Carrie asked me, her voice distorted, due to the unlit cigarette sticking out of the left side of her mouth. I handed her my ugly cotton candy pink colored lighter, and she set down her purse, giving up on finding her own.

"Thanks." She mumbled, lighting up. I leaned against the grimy sink, balancing my own cigarette between my fingers, as I watched the rest of my friends do what they always did.

Vicky, with her short choppy brown and purple hair was leaning against the door, with it's rusted hinges and missing doorknob, with her eyes closed, and smoke billowing out of her open mouth. She looked like a smoke stack, what with how tall and curve-less she was, combined with the exhaust omitting from her mouth. She brought her cigarette back up, and coughed, before sticking it back into her mouth. I was pretty sure whatever she was smoking, though, wasn't a normal cigarette. It smelled different, and she was acting differently than usual. I was worried though, because Vicky and drugs didn't usually mix well.

Danni had her back against the wall opposite Vicky, and was picking at the split ends of her curly long black hair. Danni didn't smoke with us, she always said that lung cancer ran in the family, and she didn't want to speed up death. It was sort of a lost cause, we always told her. Alcohol kills you just as fast.

Danni's mother was Asian, and her father was Mexican. She was a 50/50 blend of the two of them. I'd never seen anybody that looked like her before. She was really unique. When she'd first moved here, she'd been swooped up right away by the "popular" girls, who she quickly discovered absolutely sucked.

Carrie tossed her used up cigarette into the toilet, before splashing some water from the sink, that surprisingly worked, on her face. She pulled her shoulder-length brown hair, only a shade darker than her near perfect skin, back into a ponytail, securing it with one of the hair ties she always had on her wrist.

"I'm done, you guys coming?" She asked the group, although she knew we would only leave when we were done.

"Yeah." I said, before tossing my cigarette into the toilet with Carrie's. Vicky followed suit, flushed, and followed the rest of us out the door, just as the bell rang.

"Yes, school's over!" Danni cheered, skipping down the hall and up the stairs, blending into the crowd of departing students. We followed after her, not skipping, and started climbing the stairs. I turned and looked at Vicky, who was way behind us, looking more worn out than usual.

"You okay Vic?" I asked her.

"Yeah." She mumbled, as she caught up with us.

I headed to my locker and grabbed my purse and jacket, before finding Carrie again. We'd lived about a block away from each other all our lives, so, both of us being without a car, we always walked home together.

As we passed a magazine stand, Carrie snagged one without the vendor noticing.

"Hey check this out! Brad Pitt has cancer? Can you believe it?" She asked sarcastically, holding the latest edition of People.

"Serves him right, being so drop-dead sexy." She commented, laughing.

"Anything else laughable in the news?" I asked, as we passed the coffee shop on the corner four blocks from my apartment building.

"Umm, lets see...Paris Hilton got drunk again...Britney went another day without going insane, Ryan Seacrest got his teeth whitened, and Hannah Montana saved a cat stuck in a tree." She said, summarizing the cover.

"Are you serious?" I asked, looking at the cover of the magazine.

"That's not Paris Hilton, it's a guy, and "Hannah Montana" could be Danni's twin, if you died her hair black." I told her.

"You're right." She agreed. "But Brad still looks pretty hot, even if he does have fake cancer."

We laughed about the stupid articles in the stolen magazine the rest of the way home, until Carrie dumped it in a garbage can outside the front door of my apartment building, and kept going. The doorman looked at me sympathetically, as I passed him.

I hitched a ride on the elevator and rode up to the 3rd floor, where the apartment I shared with my "mother", for lack of a better word, was. I took out my key to open the door, but it was already unlocked, and partially open. I stepped inside, and saw my mother sitting on the couch, talking to a man and a woman, both wearing black. I could tell she'd been drinking, the house reeked of alcohol.

"Ah, there she is." What the heck do they mean by that? Have they been waiting for me or something?

"Yeah...Ah, here I am...who are you?" I asked them. The woman, whom I noticed had a unibrow, answered.

"We're social workers. We were just discussing your living arangements with your mom." The lady told me.

"My what?" I asked.

Lady one-brow immediately launched into this story about how many times social services had warned my mother about my living conditions. Apparently the school had noticed the black eye her 20 something-th "boyfriend" had given me...and the broken arm I had just got the cast removed from. Wow, I'd underestimated them. My teachers_ can _see further than the front row.

When the bucktoothed man told me they were sending me to live with my dad, I freaked out.

"No way! I'm not going to live with him! He's a loser, he's boring! I am_ not _moving halfway across the country to live with _him_." I yelled at them, backing towards my bedroom.

I tripped over a laundry basket on the floor, filled with dirty clothes, and bolted into my room, where I locked the door as quickly as I could. As much as I didn't want to live with my mom, I wanted to live with my dad even less. He was extremely boring. He was like an old bloodhound, sleeping all the time, and saying nothing. The phone calls I got from him on my birthday and on holidays practically put me to sleep.

Just as I was climbing out the window onto the fire escape, my cell phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and answered it as I climbed down the ladder. I was pretty skilled at sneaking out, so I safely got to the bottom, although I _still _didn't know what Danni was going on about.

"Danni, what the hell are you trying to say?" I asked her, as I left the alley.

"Vicky..." She shrieked and made some weird whimpering noises. "is at the hospital..." She took a deep breath and said, "She overdosed. It's really bad."

"What? She did? What hospital? Wait, I'll just follow Carrie, she's right here. I'll be there as soon as I can." I said, before hanging up and running after Carrie, whom I'd seen cross the street about a block from where I was standing.

"She's so stupid!" Carrie complained, when I caught up to her. I didn't say anything about the two ugly social workers without a clue, although I wanted to. Instead I said,

"I know. They're probably gonna send her away to rehab for this one."

"Serves her right." Carrie said, as she signaled a cab. I climbed in after her, she told the driver where to go, and we zoomed off towards the hospital.

Ten minutes and a ton of traffic later, we burst into the hospital, and went up to the front desk.

"Can you tell us what room we can find Victoria Barnhardt in?" Carrie asked. the lady behind the desk looked through some stuff and said,

"She's still in the ER. You'll have to wait. The waiting room's that way." She pointed to her right, and we headed that direction. We sat down in some dentist office-esque chairs with Danni, who was already there, and waited.

Right after us, Mrs. Barnhardt showed up, clearly distraught. A few minutes later though, when the doctor came out and broke the bad news, she started shrieking so loudly the entire city could probably hear her.

The three of us were crying on each other's shoulders, although not as loud as Vicky's mother.

It didn't really register in my brain what had happened, but I was shocked anyways. I could barely breath.

"No! No! She's NOT dead! She's still alive, go help her!" Mrs. Barnhardt kept yelling at the doctor, who kept apologizing. Apologize all you want _buddy _it won't bring Vicky back.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." Danni kept whispering under her breath, while Carrie and I cried on each other.

Vicky and I weren't exactly the closest. She'd had more in common with Danni, her best friend. Don't get me wrong, bad seed I may be, but uncaring I'm not. I was freaking out. My life was dissolving before my very eyes.

I wanted to tell Carrie and Danni that I'd most likely be forced to move halfway across the country soon, but I couldn't find the words to do it. This was not the time.

What really broke my heart though, was that if the social workers had their way, I wouldn't even get to go to Vicky's funeral.

Danni, her chest heaving, excused herself and ran out the door. Carrie and I soon left too. We couldn't handle it.

"I can't believe it." Carrie kept repeating. "I feel so bad that we didn't hang out now..."

"I know." I kept saying, rubbing my eyes all the way to the cab. When we finally stopped outside my apartment building, Carrie and I climbed out and sat on the front steps for a while.

"Carrie." I said.

She wiped her eyes, lit a cigarette, and looked at me.

"Yeah?"

"There were some social workers in my apartment before I left...they want me to move in with my dad." I told her. She started crying even harder, and buried her head in my shoulder.

"Not you too! I can't lose you too." She said, holding her cigarette out, so as not to burn a hole in my clothes.

"I don't want to go either. Dad lives in California...there's lots of bleached blondes with fake tans down there...it'll be way too much orange." I complained, trying to smile, but failing. I wiped my tears again.

"I won't let them take you." Carrie said, sticking the cigarette back into her mouth, after pulling her face out of my armpit.

"I don't think you can stop them." I told her truthfully, wiping one last tear from my eyes.

I was right though. A week later, pretty much dead on the inside, I found myself on a plane, heading to Malibu California, to live with my constantly tired father, whom I did not want anything to do with.

To make matters worse, I was stuck between two fat Asian guys who could've passed easily for sumo wrestlers. I tried to take up as little space as possible the entire flight. I was extremely relived when the pilot announced we were making our descent.

Twenty minutes later, I was at the baggage terminal, looking for my dad.

"Stephanie!" He greeted me. I cringed at the sound of my full name. I hated it. My dad was obviously the one who came up with it, because even my mother, when she was drunk, and when she was sober, called me Steph, or S, when she was too disoriented to remember my whole name.

"Hey dad..." I greeted unenthusiastically. He smiled at me, through the giant bags under his eyes and wrinkles on his face. He was probably more excited right now than he had ever been in his life. Dad was totally clueless to the fact the he bored me. He smiled the whole time he was getting my bags, and smiled all the way to the car, and all the way home, all the while asking me questions. He'd ask normal ones, like "Are you doing well in school?" to which I lied and said yes, and embarassing questions, like "Are you still a virgin?" Again, I lied and said yes.

After a long period of awkward silence, he asked me,

"So is Tracy still with that Steve guy?" Tracy was my mom, and Steve was the first, and best, boyfriend she'd had after my dad. Dad obviously didn't talk to mom about her personal life very often. As long as he stayed out of mine, I'd be fine.

"_I wish._" I muttered. He nodded, satisfied, and turned into the driveway of this giant Spanish style house that I never in a million years would suspect my dad of living in.

"We're home." He stated, still wearing that fucking smile. He was already driving me up the wall, and I wasn't even living with him yet.

"Yay." I said. He didn't catch my sarcasm and grabbed a couple of my suitcases, which he took inside. I went around to the back of his silver SUV and grabbed the last one from the back seat.

Since there was a limit to how many suitcases you can take on a plane, I'd only been allowed three, with a carry on. The rest of my stuff, social services was making sure my mom would send me, even though it was going to be really expensive. Maybe she'd run out of money for booze and be sober for a day now.

I pulled up the handle of my suitcase and looked up for a second, as a limo pulled up in front of the house across the street. This blonde girl quickly climbed out, followed by a tall man with this butt-ugly mustache, like she was trying not to be noticed, and headed towards the house. I stood there watching, as she dropped something. I'm guessing it was her key. She bent over to pick it up, and looked my direction when she stood back up. I recognized her right away, and started hating her at that exact second.

**_Ok, I am alread bored with writing about Stephanie, so I promise, next chapter will contain lots of Hannah(girl on the porch, in case you didn't figure that out) stuff...so review!_**


	2. Chapter Dos

**_Ok, so I spent almost the entire night redoing chapters of Speak, which I dare say is much better now. I'm only halfway finished, but eventually I'll get back to work. _**

**_So I think the first chapter's pretty boring...this one will be better...I promise(with my fingers crossed) It will be better, I think, though._****_

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If she'd done anything other than what she did, it wouldn't have bothered me. She could've frowned, she could've flipped me off, she could've just ignored me. However, being the goodie-two shoes that she undoubtedly was, she smiled. It was like she was trying to say "Hey! My life's perfect! Everything's great! _Now how is yours?" _

She just smiled and waved, like she was greeting somebody whose mother _wasn't_ an alcoholic near-prostitute, somebody whose friend _didn't_ just die, somebody who _hadn't_ just left her friends and moved halfway across the country, somebody who _wasn't_ even _half _as good as her.

I hated her. I really did. I didn't even know her, but I disliked her so much already. It was insane.

I needed a cigarette, badly, so I turned around and checked to see if my dad was watching. He was still inside, so I sat down on the concrete, right behind his SUV, and lit up.

I'd need to get somebody to buy me these now. Before, I'd had friends that were old enough. Now, it was just me, and I was only 16, so I couldn't just walk into a store and ask for a pack of Pall Malls. I needed to go out and meet people eventually. I was running out.

I watched the smoke leave my mouth, and through it, I could see her staring at me, trying to hide the shocked look on her face. Why should this bother her?

Little Miss Hannah Montana was a "good" person. She didn't smoke, drink, any of that. She even protested second-hand smoke, I'll bet. She wouldn't like _me. _

I laughed at the shocked look on her face. She was standing in the doorway, her feet glued to the floor, and her hand to the doorknob. You'd think she'd never seen somebody smoke before. What was her problem? Couldn't she leave me alone? She was driving me crazy already, and she hadn't said a word.

She looked over her shoulder, nodded, and closed the door. Obviously somebody who _wasn't _smoking had said something to her. I stared at the door for a minute or two, before I hurriedly stamped out my cigarette and took my suitcase into the house.

The house was a lot cleaner than I'd expected. He probably had a housekeeper. How exactly did he afford this? I didn't even know what he did for a living. I definitely hadn't done my research.

The house was painted all sorts of tropical colors. A light ocean blue in the living room, a sand color in the dining room, some form of cerulean in the kitchen. That was all I could see from the foyer, but it looked nice. Is was a complete 180 from where I'd been living before. Mom's apartment was white, every room, and dirty. She definitely didn't have a housekeeper. She'd never afford one. Mom didn't even have a job. Unless you count prostitution.

Dad entered the living room, without my suitcases, and asked, with a smile on his face,

"You like it?"

"It's...bright." Was all I could say without sounding mean. I _did_ like it, I just couldn't say that out loud.

He kept smiling like a fucking idiot, and finally said,

"Your room's upstairs, second door on the left. I already put your other suitcases up there." I nodded and started to drag my suitcase up his unbelievably wide staircase. All the staircases in Chicago were narrow compared to this. It had to be five feet, or more, across. It was weird to me that the first thing I compared to Chicago was the staircase. I could've compared the weather. It's way warmer, and a lot easier to breath, here. I could've noted the lack of grey. California was really colorful. Even the dirt was colorful. It was either this rich brown color, red, or it was sand.

I found my room, which was, believe it or not, pink, and dropped my suitcase on the floor next to the others. I would have to talk to him about that. Sure it wasn't hot pink or anything headache inducing like that, but it was pink, and I didn't like pink. _Hannah _liked pink. At least, I'm guessing she does. She _was _wearing it.

I left the room before I felt the urge to squirt my green shampoo all over the walls, just to hide them, and went downstairs. Dad was on the phone, looking serious, although tired, so I just decided to look around.

Every room was clean, colorful, and bright. It was sort of depressing to look at, since it was such a change from what I was used to. I stopped in the kitchen, and opened the stainless steel refrigerator, looking for something to eat. The first shelf was stuffed with take-out, the second had a bunch of half-eaten sandwiches, and the drawers were all filled with weird fruits I'd never seen before.

I looked through the take-out containers and decided on some sesame chicken. It looked to be the freshest.

Next, I set the chicken on the island, and started going through the cupboards, looking for something else to eat.

That is how I ended up eating a lunch of sesame chicken, Doritos, and warm kool-aid, on the island in my dad's kitchen, in Malibu California. Dad was still on the phone, talking to who knows who, as I finished throwing away my dishes, once I found the garbage can, hidden in a tall cupboard in the corner.

I looked through the window, holding the bag of Doritos, for a minute, watching the limo return to the house across the street. Hannah quickly ran out of the house, followed by the same tall man with the ugly mustache as before, wearing a different, more casual, outfit. She practically leaped into the back seat of the limo. She must be late for something. Hopefully it's the electric chair.

I put the Doritos back, and dad came into the kitchen, flipping his phone shut. He looked out the window and watched the limo speed away.

"Hey, Stephanie, I have to go to the studio...you wanna come with?" He asked.

"Studio? What studio?" Dad just looked at me, shaking his head, with the stupidest smile in history on his face, and didn't answer.

"Sure, why not. It's not like I have anything better to do." I told him, deciding that I would unpack later. I wanted to know what he did that got him so much money, anyways.

I followed him back out to the SUV, and climbed into the passenger seat. He fumbled with his keys for a minute, before finding the correct one, and starting the engine. He backed out of the driveway, and headed down the road. I looked out the window at the weird people we kept passing the entire time.

There was a lady that looked like a really old Pebbles Flinstone. She definitely had the hair. There was a guy with a huge bushy mustache that curled up on the ends, dressed like a cowboy. I saw a lady with a hairdo that made her look like she had a Cinnamon bun on her head. The people in California were awfully...unique.

After we got through a huge traffic jam in downtown Malibu, it was only a couple minutes until we pulled into the first floor of a a small parking garage, belonging to "Rocket Records"

A record company? My dad worked at record company? With singing people, and microphones, and other things you needed to be awake for? No way!

Dad parked his car on the second floor of the garage, and we took the elevator back down to the first floor. We went inside the main building, which had some of the most bizarre wallpaper I'd ever seen. Every hallway was decorated differently. There was this weird tan and gray plaid wallpaper in the lobby, which was filled to the brim with fake plants. There was also a bunch of cherry colored wooden tables, and a large desk the same color.

We went down a hallway that ended with a large trophy case full of random awards on one side, and s ome opened glass doors on the other.The area on the other side of the doors had this weird modernized gray panneling on two of the walls, and modern wooden panneling on the other walls. There were a few fake plants, identical to the ones in the lobby. On one end of the room, there was a wooden bench, with some artwork behind it. On one side of us, was a purple wallpapered hallway, and on the other, was an important looking door, with a sign that said "RECORDING" over top of the doorway. On the door itself, were two brown plaques. One said "DO NOT ENTER WHILE RED LIGHT IS ON" and the other, below it, said "STUDIO A."

Dad opened the door, just as the "RECORDING" light came on. The room on the other side of the door had some strange looking maroon wallpaper covering every wall. It was split in two by a large glass window and door, with some important-looking equipment pushed up against it.

"Rick, good, you're here," a man I recognized, with a bushy fake mustache, said to my dad, "See, Hannah didn't really like the song Chad wrote...so we made a couple changes, but we wanted to know what you thought."

Dad turned into a buiness man, using terms I didn't understand, and I stood there, looking through the glass window at none other than Hannah Montana. Of all the untalented singers in the world, my dad had to be working with _her? _

She was sitting on the floor with a guitar, playing it with a spaced out expression on her face. I could just barely hear the music, which I suspected was a good thing. I stood there, a disgusted expression on my face, and watched her for a minute. She quit playing and rested the guitar on her lap, where she started drumming her fingers on it, still looking spaced out. Color came back to her eyes as she blinked, and stood up. She looked at me for a minute, before she opened the door and joined the living.

"Hi." She greeted me. I nodded at her, but said nothing. I actually can't believe I even nodded at her.

Fake mustache man wrapped up his conversation with my dad, and sat down in front of the recording equipment, as Hannah went back behind the glass.

I desperately wanted to leave, before her music made me go deaf, but dad sat down too, signaling that we weren't going anywhere.

She started singing some weird song I couldn't really understand. I couldn't remember her accent being so strong in all of those stupid commercials that were taking over the tv.

I hate to say it, but she really wasn't_ that _bad. It wasn't the music, it was the person singing it. I mean, what was up with her hair? She needed a new hairdo, and fast.

Dad nodded at Hannah's dad, and mustache man gave her the thumbs up. She smiled, showing her hideous teeth, and kept singing.

After what seemed like eternity, she was finished singing, and was opening the glass door again.

"So can we go now?" She asked her dad.

"Umm, I was thinking we should discuss the tour schedule before you go." Dad said, killing me inside a tiny bit more.

"Oh, honey, there's some smoothie stuff down the hall, if you want to go get one while you're waiting." Dad told me. I immediately turned around and opened the door.

"There is? No way! Why didn't anybody tell _me _that? I almost die of starvation every time we come here!" Hannah complained, as I left the room. I swear to god, if she follows me, I'll shove that fake ficus up her ass.

I headed down the hallway, and heard the door open and close behind me. Unfortunately, the ficus was too far away now. I sped up and got to the machine before her, and started making a smoothie.

"So you're Rick's daughter, right?" She asked me, as she took a cup off the stack next to the blender I was using.

"Yeah." I said, doing my best to use as few syllables as possible.

"So you moved here from Chicago? What's it like?"

"Cold." I replied. I wanted to say windy, but that was two syllables.

"I've never been there. We don't usually go to any of the northern cities of Illinois during the tour. The furthest we go is Moline, I think." I laughed to myself, finding it funny that she thought I was listening to her go on and on like that.

"Well, nice to meet you...see ya!" I said, before rushing back down the hall.

We finally left, after I endured five more Montana minutes. She just kept going on and on and on, and I'm pretty sure she said something about hanging out sometime. Ha.

Once we got home, I went up to my room and started unpacking, while I dialed Carrie's number.

"Hello?" She greeted, in a bored tone.

"Hey Care, how are you doing?" I asked her.

"Oh, hey Steph...I'm okay...still kinda depressed, but you know how that is." She answered.

"Well I have something that will cheer you up. I live across the street from Hannah Montana."

"What? How's that supposed to cheer me up?" She asked, confused.

"Because I met her, and she's just as annoying as we thought. She just kept going on and on and on about stuff I couldn't understand if I tried, and then he told me...get this, she told me we should, "hang out sometime.""

"No fucking way. Are you serious? So did you ask her if she really saved that cat?" Carrie asked, more excited than she had been upon answering.

"No, I did my best to say as few words as possible to the bitch. I don't need her thinking I'm her friend." I said, holding the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I unzipped my biggest suitcase.

"Oh my god...you should."

"I should _what_?" I asked, annoyed by her lack of explanation.

"You should let her think you're her friend. You could so ruin her reputation. It'd be hilarious."

I laughed and said,

"Yeah right. She's such a goodie-two shoes. She's like, smiling all the time, it's so annoying. She'd never do any of the things we do."

"I guess you're right...I'll just go back to being depressed now...you probably couldn't do it anyways." Carrie said, using her bored tone again.

"What? I could so do it, if I wanted to...You know what? I'm gonna do it. For Vicky. She'd love it."

"Yeah...she would." Carrie said, sounding depressed.

I opened the drawer of my blindingly white dresser and started putting my clothes in it.

"To Vicky." Carrie cheered. "You can't see it, but I am so holding a glass up right now."

"I'll just hold up my invisible one." I said, laughing. "To Vicky."

**_Ok, so it's not as long as the first chapter, and it's kinda boring too...but now you know what's going on! Yay!!_**


	3. Chapter Tres

**_Ugh, I know exactly how this is gonna go...but when I sit down to write it...I forget...I seriously have like, the worst memory ever...

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Within two weeks, I had finally got myself to follow through with our plan. As much as I'd wanted to stay away from her, I'd gone against my better judgement, which told me to stay away from the stupid bitch, so as not to bore myself to death, and called her. She'd been so excited to hear from me, that I nearly leapt through the line to strangle her with with the phone cord.

Her enthusiasm was torture.

Hannah had invited me to have lunch with her at some fancy restaurant in LA, which I had, begrudgingly, accepted. It wasn't as bad as I'd expected, which wasn't saying much, because I'd expected the worst. I didn't neccessarily, die of boredom, or contracted a bad case of Overly Excited Disorder, whch she was obviously a carrier of, but it was still plenty boring.

At first she'd just gone on and on about how great her job was, and all the benefits, such as getting into restaurants like this one, whenever she wanted, and all the free stuff she got. She obviously wanted me to slit my wrists or something, I mean, she was rubbing every fucking good thing in _her _life in _my_ face.

After a while, she'd quit gushing about the free sunglasses and jewelry she was constantly getting, and switched over to a more appropriate subject. Complaints.

Hannah started whining about how hard it was to keep her personal life personal, and how difficult it was to know if her friends were really her friends, or if they were just with her because of who she was. I could see where she was coming from, but it didn't make me like her any more. She'd chose that road. If she'd wanted privacy, this was the wrong occupation for it. She should've been a computer programmer if she was really that concerned.

An eternity later, she finally asked about me. I'd decided, with what I learned from our extensive conversation, that she was just a teeny bit full of herself. She tended to keep the conversation orbiting the center of her universe. Herself.

"So what were your friends like?" She asked, after an entire essay about how great her own friends were.

__

Were?

They still _are _my friends.

"They're…different from yours." I stated, chewing on some of my chicken a little harder than was necessary. I could feel my teeth grind against each other, and my tough chewing ceased. "Chicago's different…it's sort of…darker…and not in a sunlight/moonlight way…" I'd explained. I don't know _why _I had told her that. It's not like she cared.

"Hmm…so…are you staying here, with your dad…or is this a…" She concentrated for a second on finding the word. "temporary…thing?"

"I don't know…I hope it's temporary…I miss my friends…and things are too bright here for me…"

"Sunglasses might be a wise investment." She said, smiling, like I had been joking.

I finished my chicken and stuck the straw of my Coke in my mouth. The slurping sound confirmed what I already knew. That it was empty. I kept the straw in my mouth though, to give me something to do, other than talk to Hannah.

I found, eating lunch with her, that she was quite possibly the slowest eater in the entire universe. She'd gotten about one third of her meal in the time it took me to eat all of mine. People had always told me that _I _was a slow eater, but I was nothing compared to this bitch.

I didn't know what else to say to her, so I decided to tell a joke.

"Hey…have you heard the joke about the two muffins in an oven?" I asked her.

She looked up from her meal and stared at me, in a serious manner, chewing the leaves this place called salad, for about thirty seconds, before she shook her head and said,

"No…I don't think so…"

"Okay, then I've got to tell you. This one's a classic back in Chicago." I cleared my throat and started telling a joke that actually _was _pretty popular back home.

"So there's these two muffins in an oven, right?" She nodded. "One muffin says "Ahhh! We're in an oven!" and the other muffins says…"Holy shit, a talking muffin!!"

She spit out this nasty glob of green stuff onto her plate, laughing. It wasn't even _that_ funny. I could've told her the cow joke. She probably would've exploded. Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea…

"Oh my god, I don't even know why I'm laughing." She said, holding her glass of iced tea away from her body, waiting for a time that would be safe to drink it.

"I don't either…it's sort of scaring me…I know some _much _better jokes."

"You'll have to tell me sometime when I'm not eating." She suggested, laughing.

__

As if.

"Yeah." I said, speaking the complete opposite of what I was thinking.

The second I got home, I called Dani. I needed to talk to somebody less cheerful.

"She's killing me. She's _too fucking _happy. I swear, she's got to be popping anti-depression pills in her spare time. The girl is a _nightmare._"

"All the reason to carry out with Carrie's plan." Dani said, laughing at me. Carrie had filled Dani in on the plan once I'd decided to actually carry through with it.

We'd figured it'd be a joke, that we'd make sure she got her picture taken smoking, or something un-Hannah-like like that. We never imagined how carried away we'd get…er…_I'd _get. But that's another part of the story, and we're focusing on something entirely different right now.

It was a Saturday, two weeks after our lunch encounter, and I was in my room, lying on my hideous pink bed, in my hideous pink room, with a usually enthusiastic, although currently depressed, girl next to me, hanging head first off the bed.

The sunlight was shining through the window, landing on her eyes, while her squinting face reflected off the mirror next to the window.

"I don't know what exactly it is. We've been…drifting apart…for a while…I mean, we've always been different…I mean, she's good at sports and stuff…and she doesn't really care about looking nice…and that's the complete opposite of me…but isn't that how it usually works out? Opposites attract, I mean, would people say that if it wasn't true?" She complained, pausing her heart-to-temporarily deafened ear, to wait for my input.

I hate to break it to you Hannah, but people say things that aren't true all the time. That time I said I couldn't wait to go shopping with you? A lie. A big, fat, fucking lie. People don't _always _mean what they say. Not even you.

I wish I could say that to her, but when I thought about doing it, my mouth was dry.

I mimed Hannah's position, and hung my upper body over the bed. I could feel all the blood rushing to my head, as I ran my fingers along the carpet underneath my head.

Hannah turned her upside-down, red, face, to look at me, obviously waiting for my response.

"Yeah." I answered, trying to remember what all she'd said.

"I guess I saw it coming…I just wish…I'd been nicer to her…maybe then she would still be my friend." She was silent for a minute, trying to think, which I imagined was hard, considering nearly all of the blood in her body was now resting in her head.

"People change. It's normal. You lose friends and you gain them." I knew that from experience. I hated to admit I had anything in common with Hannah, but I did, whether I liked it or not.

"Yeah…you're right."

She was silent for another minute, something that made my day all the better.

"I'm just…really stressed out right now…it's difficult to deal with all of this right now, I mean, with the album being wrapped up, and the publicity stuff I'll have to do, and then the tour…It's gonna be hard…"

An unopened bottle my dad had in the back of the fridge in the garage, that he didn't know I knew about, and had probably forgot about himself, flashed into my mind.

"The tour's a long way off." I said, trying to think of a way to convince her to do what I was thinking.

"I know. I just…I mean, Lola's gone to almost all of my concerts, ever since she found out I was…uh…ever since we met…and she's sort of…supported me…she was my good luck charm…and if we don't make up by then…"

"If you're worried about luck, buy a rabbit's foot." I suggested.

"Very funny Steph." She said. It sounded weird, hearing her call me by the name everybody, except for my dad, who still refused to call me anything other than my full name, called me, for the first time.

She sat up quickly, which was a bad idea, which she soon found out, and, while holding her head to keep it from spinning, leaned against the wall my bed was pushed up against.

"Ugh! I wish there was something I could take…to make me…I don't know, forget about all this, for a while."

Ha. She'd set herself up for this. There was practically no work needed on my part.

"Hey…my dad's got some Captain in the fridge in the garage…you want some of it? It'll take your mind off of all this for a while…" I suggested.

She stared at me, shocked, with her mouth hanging open, showing her oversized teeth.

"It's old, it's not even that strong…he won't find out."

"I don't think so Steph. I don't do that kind of stuff. My dad would _kill _me."

"Oh, come on, you mix it with some Coke and you barely even get anything from it. He'll never notice. I promise, it's not even that strong."

"No thank you." She said, swinging her legs over the edge of my bed.

"It's not that big a deal. It'll make you feel better, come on. I'm having some. I don't care if you do or not." I told her, getting up from my bed.

"I'll jut have some water." She said, following me out of the room.

Hannah obviously considered me enough of a friend that she didn't leave, which told me that she'd eventually come around. She was definitely too trusting.

I _was _right. It wasn't that big a deal. Kids did this sort of thing all the time. Trusting parents left alcohol in the cupboard, thinking that never, in a million years, would their sweet innocent children think to experiment with it.

I went into the garage, while Hannah stayed in the kitchen, and came back with the bottle of Captain Morgan in my hands.

I poured a little into a glass, and got a Coke out of the fridge, which I then poured into it. I yanked open the silverware drawer, hoping to find a straw, which my dad usually kept in there, but there was none in sight. Instead, I grabbed a fork, and used the handle end to mix my drink together.

"Is that really how you're supposed to do that?" Hannah asked me, finally speaking up.

"My mom does it all the time." I said, That was the truth. My mom had started mixing Captain into practically everything she drank, after Steve left her.

"But isn't your mom like, insane or something?" Hannah asked, wearily.

"That doesn't mean she can't enjoy her alcohol." I stated, taking a sip. It burned a little on the way down, but that was normal. Coke did that by itself.

"You sure you don't want some?" I asked her. She shook her head.

"Come on. Just a taste. If you don't like it I won't bother you anymore."

She looked at me for a minute, and with the look of defeat on her face, she reached for my glass. I let go of it once it was in her hand, and watched as she took a tiny sip.

She immediately handed it back to me, with her face all bunched up.

"It burns." She said, rubbing her throat, like _that'd _help.

"It's supposed to." I told her, desperately wanting to laugh at how little she knew about this sort of thing.

The next week, I sat at a picnic table outside the neighborhood ice cream shop, eating some Blackberry flavored sherbet out of a cup, while staring off into space, thinking about how I could possibly get Hannah to do anything even _remotely _unlike her. I knew smoking was out of the question. If she wouldn't drink, she would never smoke. She was a singer, and she needed her lungs. I knew exactly what she'd say to me if I suggested that.

I looked up from my melted ice cream, and saw a guy sitting in the Silver Trans AM parked right across my table. He was staring at me, but was so engrossed in what he was doing that he didn't noticed I was looking back at him.

If he'd been a fat old man, I would've said something like "Look, I'll call the police if you don't quit staring, you fucking pervert." This guy, however, looking to be about my age, and he was really cute, so it didn't bother me. The superficial part of me liked his attention. He wasn't staring in a "man-watching the freak show at the zoo" way. It was more like one of those sentimental-type people watching a sunrise.

I wondered if he was shy or something, because, all but one of the six times I'd been to this place, he'd been there, and he'd watched me all five times. It was starting to freak me out. I turned and tossed my empty ice cream cup into garbage can behind me, making a perfect basket. No wonder the school's basketball coach had been after me to join the team.

I got up and walked over to his car. He finally noticed I'd moved when I got within three feet, and looked back down at the steering wheel. He started the engine of his car, and was about to back out of the parking lot, when I tapped on the window.

He looked at me for a minute, so I motioned for him to roll the window down. He did so, and gazed, horrorstruck, at me.

"Why are you always staring at me?" He didn't answer, so I continued. "I don't mind, I just want to know why. You're not like…a stalker or something are you?"

"I, uh…no…I'm not stalking you…" He stuttered.

I threw the Don't Take Rides From Strangers rule out the window, and reached over the glass to unlock the door. I sat down in the passenger seat of his car, and asked,

"Are you like, really shy or something? Why haven't you just got out and talked to me? I know you've been here before."

"I uh…I…I don't know what to say, I guess…"He told me, ruffling his auburn hair, before crossing his arms across his green sweater clothed chest.

I laughed a little, and asked him,

"My name's Steph…what's yours?"

"Steph…short for Stephanie?" I nodded, cringing at the sound of my full name like I always did.

"Stephanie Larson." I gave him my full name.

"Mine's Lex. Lex Shultz." He said, finally giving up on embarassment.

"Short for Alex?" I asked him. He shook his head yes.

"Why don't they call you Alex?"

"I think it's a girl name." He told me, easing up a little.

"I have a cousin named Alex…he's not a girl."

"Well…my parents thought I was going to be a girl…so when it turned out I wasn't…they kept the name anyway."

"Oh…well…it was nice meeting you Lex…I guess I'll see you next time I come get ice cream all by myself?" His face turned red with embarrassment. "Maybe next time you'll get out of your car and have some with me."

I had a feeling I'd bee seeing Lex Shultz again, and that he'd somehow fit into the mess I was about to get myself into.

* * *

**_ah, ok, so Lex is definitely gonna be important in the Stephanie part of the story...and maybe possibly into the Hannah part...possibly...I have BIG plans for Steph and Lex though lol...you just wait..._**


	4. Chapter Cuatro

_**Alrighty, so I changed the summary...I'd like to know if you think it's more appealing now...cause if it's not, I'm changing it back...I don't really know if this just isn't that interesting, or if all of the people that used to read Hannah fics like, a year ago, died, or joined the Jonas side or something...I'm gonna keep going with this though, even if only like, 200 people have read it in the time this has been up...I like writing this story...I said that about AtAA though, and I'm kinda stuck with that one... **_

**_Ugh, I really wanna tell the cow joke I mentioned in the previous chapter, but I'm not going to. It's not even that funny, I don't know why I laugh..._**

* * *

The schools in California are too warm. Not in the traditional temperature sense, but in the color sense. All of the walls in my school, for instance, are orange, or yellow, or some form of tan. I feel like I'm burning up, just looking at them. That's impossible, however, because they've got the air conditioning on so high that I'm guessing all the people leaving for the nurse's office are going to get their frostbit toes amputated.

There's not much to say about school. It's like all others. There are the popular kids, most of whom hate me, and there are the losers, most of whom are obsessed with me, and then there are the pot heads...most of whom are popular. That's how it is, and I don't really care. My body is all that goes to school anyway, my mind usually stays home.

I sat down, Friday, to eat lunch by myself, but was followed by about ten officers from the Loser Squad.

"Hey Steph, would you like some company?" This annoying girl with bad hair and braces, who'd been following me around for the entire time I'd been coming to her school, asked me.

"Uh, no thank you...I'd prefer to eat by myself." I'd prefer to be eating in Chicago, but seeing as that's not gonna happen, I think I'm stuck here. The school year's over in less than a month anyway.

"Aw, you don't want to do that. Don't you wanna make some friends?"

"No, you bitch, I already have them. I've made an equal number of enemies too, and unless you want to throw off the balance and become one, I suggest you go away."

Alright, so I didn't_ actually _say that. I wanted to, and I was about to, when this boy came up behind me and said,

"Leave her alone Lisa, if she doesn't want to join Student Council, you're not going to convince her otherwise. Your influencing skills are shot."

I turned around to see who was defending me, when I didn't need them too. This boy was brunette, average size, and maybe an inch or two taller than me. I suppose he would be cute if he dressed better, and maybe if he got rid of those hideous glasses.

"Hi, I'm Trevor. Trevor Greenwood. You're Stephanie, right? From Chicago? That's a long way from here."

"Uh, Hi. Uh, yes, I am, yes I'm from Chicago, and yes, that_ is _a long way from here." I said, trying to answer each of his questions.

"Sorry about Lisa and all of her groupies. They always try to convince the new kids to join practically everything. It's pretty annoying. Lisa's voice gives me headaches. We've gone to school together for practically forever, and I'm still not used to it."

He sure talks a lot. He doesn't even seem to care that I'm not listening. Hannah would like him. They're a lot alike. Minus the whole annoying as hell pop star thing.

Ugh, speaking of Hannah...I have to go help her and her stylist pick out a dress for the CMAs tonight...That'll be boring. Why does she keep inviting me everywhere?

"Her voice _is_ pretty...weird. I can how that could get annoying." I said, hitting on the one topic of his entire speech that I'd actually listened to.

I sat there, eating my pathetic salad, trying to hint that he wasn't welcome here.

"Hey, if I sneak out to get a smoke...you're not gonna tell anyone, are you?" He asked me quietly. I looked up at him with a smile on my face. I'd been craving a cigarette for hours. I had planned on finding a bathroom somewhere to sneak one in after lunch.

"You have any extras?" I asked him.

"Yeah." He answered, nodding slowly, not quite sure what I was getting at.

"I won't tell if you won't tell."

After school, I stood in my kitchen, staring at a box of graham crackers. I just couldn't get away from her. I'd opened the cupboard, not expecting to see her there, grabbed a box of crackers, not expecting to see her on it, and set it on the counter, only to see, who else? Hannah Montana.

She was on my graham crackers. I didn't actually want them anymore. I continued to stare at the box anyway.

Minutes into my staring contest, there was a knock on the door, and, without waiting for an answer, she came in and stood next to me. The real Hannah, not the one on the box.

I stood there, trying to pose the way she was on the box, which was nearly impossible. She was leaning back too far, and had her hand pointlessly stuck in her hair, with the other sticking out like she was trying to punch a munchkin.

I leaned backwards, and lost my balance, falling to the floor. The stupid bitch just laughed at me. She laughed!

"How on earth do you stand like that? It's like, impossible." I asked her, getting up.

"I have really good balance." She told me, shrugging. I wouldn't doubt it. Her feet are pretty gigantic. They'd have to be to balance out her giant head and all that ratty bottle blonde hair.

I grabbed the bottle sitting on the counter next to the box of crackers, and took a drink, before putting the graham crackers away.

It was quite a convenience to have a dad like mine, who was gone nearly all day, every day. That way he didn't know how much drinking I'd been doing while he was gone. I'd taken up downing half a bottle - Of the weak stuff, okay? Relax. - every day after school. It clearly made Hannah uncomfortable. She just sat there, staring at me, as I tipped the rest of the bottle down my throat.

She cleared her throat, and asked,

"So are you ready yet?" I shook my head while I finished swallowing, and said,

"No, I still have to change my clothes."

"Okay." She said, nodding like a bobble head, as she rested her crooked back against my dad's marble counter top.

I went down the hallway, to my room, thinking about how much of an influence I'd had on Hannah in the month we'd known each other. She wasn't nearly as uncomfortable, now that she knew me, as she had been at first. She didn't really care what I did in my spare time anymore. When she first found out about the smoking and drinking, she'd tried to convince me to quit, which was pointless. Now she just ignored it. I figured it wouldn't be long before she got curious and started doing it herself.

I stood in my front of my closet, holding up two different shirts. I chose the shorter one, the other shirt had a stain on it. I pulled off my shirt and replaced it with the new one, which showed about two inches of my midriff, and was considerably more low cut than the school dress code abiding one I'd been wearing. I'd have to go shopping eventually, I didn't have many clothes I could wear to school. The officials back in Chicago were more loose with the dress code, and everybody wore pretty much whatever they wanted to.

I tossed my jeans, with the hole in the knee I'd gotten in trouble for, and pulled on a denim mini skirt. I looked in the mirror on my way out, to check my hair. It looked a little ratty, so I ran my fingers through it, checked it again, and went back to the kitchen.

"Alright, let's go." I said, grabbing a jacket, as I left the house, not paying any attention to whether or not Hannah was following me.

When we walked into the store, Hannah's stylist was already there, ready to show us some of the most hideous dresses I'd ever seen. Hannah kept shooting me surprised looks every time the guy showed us something new. I just kept making faces. She was the one that hired him. He didn't have much common sense either. Every time I'd stick my tongue out and cross my eyes, Hannah would burst out laughing, and he would just look around, trying to find whatever it was we were laughing at, not knowing that it was him.

"Uh...I don't think so...it's not exactly my style." Hannah told him, trying to let him down nicely, after he showed us this ugly green paper bag-like dress that nearly made me throw up.

I probably would've said something like "What the hell is wrong with you? That's the ugliest fucking dress I've ever seen in my life." But that's why Hannah is different from me, and it's probably why she has more friends, too.

He finally showed us a really nice one, after hours of some sort of sick practical joke he was playing. It was a navy blue halter dress, made of this sort of stiff, shimmery material. It had diamond cutouts in the back, and looked great on her. Hannah looked at it in the mirror, sceptically, while she tapped her fingers on the open door of the dressing room.

"I don't know, it's sort of...low cut, isn't it?" She asked, in a sarcastic manner.

It was definitely low cut, I mean, it went down so far you could just about see her naval. It covered most of her chest though, it was just a tiny strip of her stomach that showed. It had these cool little chains holding the bottom half together, and the matching shoes Jamal, her stylist, had picked out were pretty awesome. I'd get the dress, no matter how ugly it was, just to get those shoes.

"You're not guest-staring on Barney in this dress Hannah. It's the CMAs, and it's for like, three minutes, to present an award. " I said, trying to convince her, so we could get this over with.

"I like it, and the shoes are awesome, but, I have fans that'll be watching...little fans with...innocent eyes..."

"It's not even that bad. It covers your chest, you're just freaking out 'cause your stomach's getting cold. Besides, you're growing up, along with your fans. You can't sing to little twelve year-olds forever."

I desperately wanted to get out of this hell-hole. It was cold in here, and it was getting dark outside. It was a Friday night and I wanted to...well I don't know what I wanted to do. I have very few friends in this town at the moment, I can't exactly go out and do things.

Hannah looked at me again. She was bored, we'd been at this for hours. Even Jamal, who was pretty much the energizer bunny, looked tired.

"You're sixteen Hannah, not ten. You can wear it. You look hot in this dress." He said. I'm not so sure "You look hot in this dress" is much of a compliment coming from a, uh, non-heterosexual guy, but he was right. It seemed to push her towards buying it a little.

"For your information, I am still fifteen."

"And like, nine tenths." I added. She wiped her tired eyes and closed the door of the dressing room.

"Fine. My dad won't be happy, but oh well...I just want to get out of here."

"Yes." I mouthed, high-fiving Jamal, both of us happy to be leaving. If she changed her mind in there, I swear to god, I'd punch her.

We finally got out of the store, and I got dropped off at my house. I went inside to find a message from my dad on the message recorder, telling me he'd be out really late tonight, and something about how his company's got four different CDs coming out in the next month, and none of them are finished, he's got to keep working late, yadda yadda yadda.

It was raining outside now, and it was completely dark now. It seemed like as good a time as any to be depressed, so I was. I sat on the couch, thinking about home. About my "mother", about my friends. About Vicky, and all sorts of other depressing stuff.

I sat on the couch, another hidden bottle on the coffee table, and a glass of Captain and Coke in my hands, watching some dumb lifetime movie about some girl who got pregnant by this stupid dude that got killed on a motorcycle. She was pretty annoying, and had this horrible fake accent, that she kept using to tell people she didn't know who the dad was. I wanted to shoot her. She was horrible. Like Hannah.

My movie watching was interrupted by a loud bang, and some shouting.

"I'M NOT LISTENING TO YOU!! YOU DON'T TRUST ME!" Hannah yelled.

I took a swig and listened, counting down the seconds until she started banging on my door.

Three, two, one...BANG BANG BANG.

I got up to open the door, but she has very little patience, and didn't wait. When she burst through the door though, it wasn't exactly what I expected.

She was standing there in these black and pink superman pajama bottoms, with this currently see-through white tank top on, soaked from head to foot. Instead of blonde though, she was brunette. Her hair was a lot longer than I remembered it, and her face looked a little different, with all of her makeup washed off. I only knew it was her because nobody else I knew would barge into my house without asking, and say,

"Yeah, I know, I've got some stuff to explain."

She sat down on the couch, leaving a large wet spot, and said,

"So Hannah Montana's not my real name."

"What is?" I asked, honestly curious.

"Most people call me Miley." She said, wiping her eyes, causing her leftover mascara to smear. "Miley Stewart." She held out her hand. I shook it, like I didn't already know her, and said,

"I can get you a towel." I got up and stumbled, due to the alcohol in my system, and made my way down the hall to find a towel. I handed it to her and she used it to wipe her face.

"So...what's with the blonde hair then?" I asked.

"It's a wig..." She said, wringing her hair out. " I came up with another identity, so I could be a, uh, somewhat normal person, some of the time."

"Hannah Montana's a stupid name. You could've come up with a better one."

"I know." She said, closing her eyes and leaning back.

"So what were you fighting about?" I asked. She paused for a minute, before explaining.

"Well, dad was kinda mad about the dress...he thinks it'll uh, attract guys, and he just...well, he doesn't trust me. I guess he thinks I'm just gonna do whatever I want with a guy if he's not there watching..."

"I see..." I said. I really didn't, I'm not even sure why I said that. I was sort of dizzy, and nothing she was saying really made sense to me.

She looked at me for a minute, before screaming as loudly as humanly possible, in anger. My head was already killing me, and the hangover wasn't even in effect yet.

She closed her eyes again, and took a deep breath. I just continued to stare at her. After a minute, she seemed to have given up on remaining calm, and just reached across me for the bottle. She drank all that was left, which was almost half a bottle, and crashed on my couch. I sat there with her legs over me, sort of angry that she stole my Captain, but at the same time happy that our plan was working.

**_ta dahhhhh...I'm bored...I'm going to go somewhere and do my best to stay away from Hannah Montana cardboard cutout things, because they now officially creepy me out, thanks to that guy on youtube...ugh..._**


	5. Chapter Cinco

**_Okay...so_** **_I didn't have a clue what this chappie was gonna be about until just now, when I sat down to write it...at uhh, 7:40 pm...so that means that if this chapter isn't that great...it's completely my fault, and not in the hands of an alien or anything like that..._**

**_Also - I keep fogetting to say this - I've got to warn you and stuff about the langauge...It hasn't been that bad yet...but it's gonna get a little worse, what with the frustration and anger and shit...and maybe even the fact that I'm getting in the habit...but yeah. Language advisory, that's all I'm saying. _**

* * *

When the hideous grandfather clock my father had bought at a garage sale in a fit of insanity chimed 12 times, she woke up. For the next 4 hours, my life was a living hell. I'd thought she was a nightmare when she was sober, but she was even more of a bitch when she was drunk. It wasn't so bad when I was equally intoxicated, while she was passed out on my lap, but by the time she woke up, the alcohol had pretty much left my system. What can I say? It goes through me quickly.

Hannah, however…the alcohol went through her about as quickly as a man with his legs and one arm amputated can swim through a pool of quicksand. And I am definitely not exaggerating.

"Steeeeephie!" She greeted me, spit flying from her mouth, as the fucking clock chimed the twelfth time. I made a mental note to hide the key to that stupid thing next chance I got.

"Get up Ha-Miley." I mumbled, catching myself as I nearly called her by the wrong name. It would probably take me a long time to get used to the whole double identity, two different names thing. I'd always thought Hannah Montana was the dumbest name in history, but Miley…that takes the cake. Poor girl had no chance, her dad was born with the gayest imagination.

"Why?" She asked, like this was her couch, and she just happened to be laying on the two extra legs she had sticking out of her side, instead of my thighs. I wouldn't be surprised if she actually _did_ have extra limbs hidden in there, her ass did pretty much double in size this year, along with her boobs and her mouth.

I have never met anybody in my entire life, who enjoys talking as much as she does. She's so incredibly annoying, going on and on and on and on about things that nobody in the fucking world cares about. I mean, seriously Miley, nobody cares that you went to the dentist yesterday. Root canals are not interesting.

Sure, it's good to know she's going to the dentist at all, with teeth like that, but she doesn't need to go on and on about it. It's irritating, just like the rest of her, personality included.

And she thinks she's funny too! All the stupid comments she makes are retarded. People only laugh, because she actually thinks she's funny. It's sad.

"Because this is my house, and if you don't get up, I'm gonna call your dad and get your fucking ass in so much trouble you'll wish you were dead. That answer your question?" I asked her, shoving her off me.

"No it doesn't, bitch." She replied, rolling over a little too far, so that she fell off of the couch and hit her head on the coffee table.

"Fuck! That hurt!" She exclaimed, while I sat there laughing at her. She cursed when she was drunk. How funny is that? When I first started drinking, I was told I was actually friendlier than when I was sober. That's not the case with this waste of skin and intestines.

She pulled herself up, with no help from me, off the ground, and sat back down, swaying, on the couch. She turned and stared at me for a minute, before she, get this, leaned over and bit me on the neck. Seriously. The bitch fucking bit me! I shoved her off of me, and stood up quickly, too quickly. I felt extremely dizzy, like I was just about to fall over.

When I'd pushed her, Hannah had fell off the couch, again, and hit her head on the coffee table, again. And she said she had good balance. Ha. I actually said that. Ha, I mean. I kept laughing so hard, it was difficult to focus on what was right in front of me.

When the room quit spinning, I noticed how she'd quit moving around so much. At the moment, she was sitting the floor, where she'd fallen, holding her hand in front of her.

"Shit." She whispered. I could see blood on her hand, and watched as she stared at it. "I think I got blood on your table Stephie…"

I laughed at her some more, and eventually she joined in. She was easy to sway even when she was trashed. She's still the same, annoying, person.

Hannah looked up at me, still laughing, before she put her hand to her mouth and licked all the blood off. She then used her still red, and now slobbery, bloodstained hand to help herself off of the floor again.

"You got some more of that stuff? My head hurts."

"Don't I not think you're supposed to drink it when bleeding you." I mumbled, mixing up my words, which was generally the sign that I was drunk. My mom did it too, and that's how she always knew, in those rare moments that she wasn't completely wasted when I got home, that I was drunk. Not that she ever did anything about it.

"I mean…I don't think you're supposed to drink when you're bleeding…it like…makes you keep bleeding...and stuff." I said, this time more coherently.

"Oh well, I'm a girl and girl's are superheroes." She said, shrugging her shoulders, as she picked up the now empty, thanks to her, bottle of Captain Morgan sitting on the side table, and attempted to drink what wasn't there.

"How do you figure that?" I asked her, as I yanked the bottle out of her hands and sat back down on the couch.

"Who else could bleed for five days and not die?" She replied, like it was an obvious, predictable answer, as she made her way to my kitchen.

I'm pretty sure I saw that on a t-shirt once. It doesn't surprise me that she has no originality whatsoever, I mean, her dad does write practically all of her songs for her. Not that he has much either, her songs do kind of suck.

"Come on Miley, why don't you go lay down?" I said, although I desperately wanted to take her out in public. Not that it'd make much of a difference. She wasn't dressed as Hannah anyways. So I was the reasonable one for once. Big deal.

"Nope. I don't think so." She said, running through the kitchen and into the dining room. I followed her and wrapped my fingers around her wrist. Obviously, she didn't like being stopped, because she yanked it out of my grasp, and kicked me.

Hard.

In the shin.

"Fuck!" I yelled, which caused her to jump in fright. I grabbed a hold of her arm again, and started dragging her up the stairs, before she had a chance to hurt me anymore. I shoved her into my room, and locked the door behind me.

"Look, I'm gonna be a nice person, and not send you home to your impending doom, alright? But that means you've got to quit biting and kicking me, alright?" She pouted and mumbled,

"Fine."

For the next few hours, two of them spent trying to keep my oblivious father out of my room, Hannah blatantly ignored me, and continued to randomly bite, pinch, and kick me. When I looked at the clock for the five-thousandth time, wondering just how much longer, exactly, it would be before this wore off and she went back to sleep, I saw that it was ten past four. It had to have been at least five hours since she'd started drinking. This was insane, I didn't know anybody that had acted this way longer than three, once they'd quit.

Eventually, she did fall asleep, on top of my bed, no less. I had no desire to wake her, and start the cycle over, so I let her stay there, and slept on the floor, on top of the giant pile of blankets she'd thrown off the bed.

"Steph…" She said, just as I was getting comfortable. Shit. She's awake again. This is wonderful.

"_What_, Miley?" I asked her, preparing to shield myself from further attacks.

"We should do this more often."

"That's what I'm planning." I told her.

When Monday came, I was in a bad mood. Not only because I hate Mondays, but mostly because I'd finally got Hannah to do something unlike her, and nobody found out. Even _she_ didn't mention it, when she woke up on my bed Saturday morning, unaware as to how she got there.

I sat through first hour, fingering the small bag I'd acquired from a guy out behind the school that morning, that was in my pocket. I wasn't sure if I was going to use it, but I'd bought it anyway.

I sat through second hour, nearly bored into a coma. Third hour was the same, as was fourth, and fifth, and sixth, and every other period that day. When I got home, I found another message from dad. He wouldn't be home until after I was in bed, again. Same old, same old. No surprise there.

I sat around the house for a while, trying to find something to do. I knew, in the back of my mind, that there was something I _could _do, but I didn't exactly want to do it on a school night. I'm not stupid. I know I'd get caught.

Finally, the phone rang, and I got up to answer, it, glad to finally have something to do.

"Hello?" I asked, chomping on the gum I had in my mouth.

"Steph. Good, you're home…I was hoping you'd answer and not your dad." I just about hung up the phone at the sound of my mother's voice.

"What do you want mom?" I asked, rudely.

"I can't just call to talk to you?" She asked, sounding hurt.

"You had plenty of chance to talk to me mom. Unfortunately, you were too trashed to realize it."

"…I've been going to meetings…I haven't had a drink all week."

"You know what? You can call and brag about that when you're actually telling the truth, alright?"

"Steph, please. Be nice for a minute."

"Fine…so why are you calling again? Other than to lie to me?"

"Stephanie. Please…I was calling to see how things were going. Your dad's not neglecting you is he? Or hitting you…or anything I could tell a lawyer?"

"Wow mom. I can't believe you. Why are you even trying to get me back when you don't care whether or not I'm happy here?"

"Honey, please. I'm your mother. I need you back. I'm lonely here without you." She whined.

"Funny you should say that, I was under the impression you didn't even know I lived there all those years." I told her.

"Steph…I love you. I miss you. Don't you miss your friends?"

"Yes mom, but you know what I don't miss? You. You and your lying. Why don't you just tell me the truth?" I replied. She was silent for a minute, before she sighed and said,

"Well…since you live with your dad now…I don't get that child support check from him anymore…so I'm behind on the bills…and I'm probably gonna get evicted."

I couldn't believe it. Even sober, she still cared more about the money than me. This phone call, this wasted phone call, had been to get dirt on my dad that she could use to get that check back. I couldn't believe how horrible of a person she was. She was worse than me. I felt so unloved. It was the worst feeling, and I didn't even have Hannah to take it out on at the moment.

"You know what mom? Fuck you. Fuck you." I said angrily, about to hang up.

"Stephanie, please!" She begged.

"FUCK YOU!!" I yelled over her pleading, before I slammed the phone down.

I screamed about all of the curse words I knew, loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear, in anger, before I started crying. I didn't want to cry. I mean, she didn't love me, so I didn't love her. Easy as that, right? But she _was _my mother. As much as I didn't want to feel anything towards her, I did.

Rubbing my red eyes, I got up to find my coat, and dig that bag out of my pocket.

"Stephanie Larson?" The teacher called, as she took attendance the next day. I could barely understand her say my name, I only knew she'd said it, when everybody in the class turned to look at me. I was so unfocused I could barely see them, but they could see me perfectly well.

I knew my eyes were bloodshot, and I knew how messy my hair was, and how bad my breath probably smelled. I'd swished some Listerine around in there this morning, and I'd washed my hair, and sprayed on some nauseating perfume my dad had bought me, but the smell still lingered. Nobody did anything about it though, like they'd tried to, for about a week, back in Chicago. They were probably used to this sort of thing here too.

I let my head rest on the desk, with my hair spread out around me, as I stared at the words "JOE IS GAY" carved into my desk, blinking until my eyes focused enough for me to read them. When I looked up again, I saw Mrs. Carver, my history teacher, standing in front of me.

"Stephanie." She whispered, coming in and out of focus.

"What?" I whispered, using my elbows to prop myself back up.

"Are you high?" She whispered, trying to keep the other students from hearing her. Her attempt at protecting me from embarrassment, however, was pointless, because they heard, and started laughing at me.

"No…I just…stayed up late…can I go use the bathroom? I think I'm gonna be sick." I didn't wait for an answer, and darted around her, and out of the room, to the bathroom, where I actually _did _get sick.

I tossed the little bit of food I'd been able to eat this morning, into the toilet bowl, and wiped the remains from my mouth, before I left the bathroom, and the school altogether.

I walked down the street, wishing I had a car, and found myself in front of my favorite ice cream shoppe. I sat down at the table near the garbage can I usually sat at, and rested my head on my arms. After a couple of minutes, somebody poked me in the back. I turned around, and, once he came into focus, saw Lex Shultz standing in front of me, wearing an apron, and a nametag that said Alex.

"Steph?" He asked, obviously disgusted by my horrifying appearance. "Are you okay? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at school?"

"I uh, felt sick, so I left…what are _you _doing here?"

"I work here." Duh.

"Oh…right…why don't I ever see you here then?" I asked him, trying not to sound stupid.

" I usually take the day shift, since most of the employees have to go to school. I'm home school, so I have a lot more time to work."

"Right…You don't care if I sit here for a while, do you?" I asked him, realizing that he'd probably come over here to tell me to leave.

"No, that's fine…Hey, you want some ice cream? The flavor of the day is Peppermint…it's not that bad. I could get you some."

"I don't have any money with me." I said, wiping my eye.

"That's okay, I get free ice cream anyways." He told me, walking off without even waiting for an answer.

He came back a couple minutes later, with some green ice cream in a Styrofoam cup.

"Hey, Bart, I'm taking my break, okay?" He called to the large African American man behind the counter. Bart nodded, the tiny braids covering his head shaking, just like the rest of him.

"Bart's pretty cool. He'll let me take as long a break as I want, if you wanna talk or something?" He said, ending his sentence as a question.

"Oh, okay…" I said, as I took the ice cream from him.

Lex got up and stuck some money in the newspaper machine behind him, before he sat down across from me. He was being awfully confident today, compared to the last time I'd seen him.

He flipped open the magazine and started reading it.

"Wild monkeys on the loose. Interesting." He mumbled. I giggled, yes, giggled. It was horrible. I sounded like Hannah, er, Miley or whatever her name is.

He flipped to the entertainment section, where a huge picture of Hannah covered a quarter of the page.

"Lindsay Lohan buys Chicken and Waffles restaurant. Man, when she fell off the wagon, she must've hit her head ." He said, looking at me out of the corner of his eye, to see if I was smiling. I was.

"You're pretty funny." I told him, which sounded really gay when it came out of my mouth. He smiled at me, and I went back to eating my ice cream.

"I just don't like that place. I don't like waffles. Or chicken."

"I don't like chicken either…all of my non-vegetarian friends think I'm insane." I told him, ignoring the pain my head was in.

"Mine too." He replied, laughing.

He must think I'm pretty great. He definitely doesn't know me.

Lex reached into his back pocket and pulled out a box of Pall Malls, which he opened right in front of me.

"This probably really turns you off, doesn't it? The whole licking an ashtray thing? I'm trying to quit." He told me, looking like he regretted taking out the cigarettes.

"I've licked an ashtray before, and believe me, it's nothing like it." I told him, as I snatched a cigarette from the box.

"You don't mind, do you?" I asked him, as I set down my ice cream.

"Course not. " He said, with the unlit cigarette sticking out of his mouth, as he reached over and lit mine for me.

I felt better within seconds. Not one hundred percent, but better.

After a couple awkward seconds, Lex went back to reading his newspaper, as I juggled my ice cream and my cigarette.

"Hannah Montana signs on to dance movie." He read aloud. "She must've thought she was going on "So You Know You Can't Dance." I laughed, and he smiled, before explaining,

"I can't stand her. She's too…perfect…I'd prefer somebody like you."

I stared at him for a minute, before I_, completely uncharacteristically, _(ha) tossed my cigarette on the ground and practically threw myself across the table, before kissing him, square on the mouth.


	6. Chapter Seis

**_Discouraged as I may be...I kind of want to write this. I have an idea, but I'll probably have to rush this chapter to get to it..._**

**_Also, I've decided to keep the rating the same. I just won't be as...detailed...which might be a good idea, considering I've never done any of this stuff... _**

* * *

"That was weird, wasn't it?" Not to mention inappropriate. Why did I do that?

"A little..." Lex admitted, before he cracked a smile, "But I can't say I didn't like it."

I smiled a tiny smile, and sat back down on the bench on my side of the table. I felt a little chilly, and rubbed my arms to keep them warm.

"I'm sorry, I just...I've never met anybody that agreed with me." I told him, looking up at him. It made me feel dizzy, and he seemed to notice, although he stayed quiet. I liked that. I hated those people that keep asking "Are you okay?" I already answered you, now shut the fuck up!

"Agreed with you about...Hannah?" He asked, flattening the newspaper on the table.

"Yeah. My dad works at Rocket Records, so he sees her a lot..."

"So you know her?" He asked me, more interested in what I was saying than I was.

"Unfortunately." I said, massaging my temples. "She's just as boring as she seems. Although she's pretty funny when she's drunk..." Wait. Why did I say that last part? That was stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

"How do you know that?" He asked, smiling.

"I don't. I just...guessed." I mumbled, trying to come up with an excuse. He obviously didn't believe it.

"So you're like, trying to kill all her brain cells, or something like that?" He suggested, ignoring my excuse.

"Something like that." I admitted. Another stupid thing to say. Why did I feel like I could tell him these things?

"Okay." He replied, nodding. "Can I help? I love destruction." I laughed, which hurt, and said,

"I'm not trying to _kill _her. I'm attempting to make her more like...other teenagers."

"And I'm an other teenager! See how that works?"

"How do I know you're not a pathological liar? You could be a serial killer and I wouldn't even know it." I told him, rubbing my eyes.

"I assure you, I'm not. And I'll prove it. We'll go to a chick movie, and I will be completely honest and complain through the entire thing."

"Are you trying to ask me out?" I asked him, resting my elbows on the table. I looked up into his face and waited for an answer, hoping it was yes.

"Maybe." He admitted. I laughed, and smiled at him.

"Is that a yes?" He asked hopefully.

"Maybe."

I went on that one date, and that one date turned into another, and another, and another. He was unlike anybody I had ever met. He was so shy sometimes, but so outgoing at other times. He was better than me, but I liked it. I noticed myself changing, ever so slightly, into a slightly better person.

"You know what this song makes me want to do?" I asked nobody in particular as I sat in the corner of the nearly empty recording studio with my feet propped up on my dad's evacuated chair, while I picked at my nails.

"What?" Hannah asked, inattentively, as she listened to her newest, freshly recorded song, play back, while my dad and hers were in the other room, talking about who the fuck cares what.

"It makes me want to slit my throat." I told her, looking up.

"Is it that bad?" She asked, nervously, as she turned the volume down.

"It is." I assured her, being the highly unsupportive friend intent on ruining her life that I was.

"I don't really like it either. I've done too much of this stuff." She said, leaning back in her chair.

"Maybe if you slowed it down a little, got rid of that god-awful tambourine guy with the mohawk, and changed the chorus...I mean, "I wasn't searching for you, but oh man I adore you?" That's retarded, who the hell wrote that, your _grandma_?"

"Wow, thanks for the compliments." She said sarcastically.

"No but seriously, just slow it down a little...it's too...'Look at me, I just drank fifteen gallons of sugar water and now I'm jumping around on a sugar high in sparkly clothes that were made by kids in Africa half my age who work in sweat shops for a quarter an hour! Yippee!!'"

"I'll go talk to dad..." She mumbled, getting up.

Once she left the room, my phone rang. It was Lex.

"Hey..." I mumbled, while I chewed off a hangnail.

"What's up?" He asked me.

"Nothing much...I'm just adjusting the musical style of a teenage popstar on a perpetual sugar high."

"Sounds fun."

"It is." I admitted.

"So you doin' anything tonight? I was thinking we could go see another movie, if you wanted to."

"Ummm, it'll probably be kinda late by the time dad gets out of his meeting...He has so much to say, but he talks SO slow."

"I can come get you." Lex offered. I could hear the longing in his voice.

"They won't let you in. They're afraid somebody's gonna sneak in and murder Hannah."

"They _should_ be afraid. She might be allergic to normal."

"She might. Hey, how about I meet you outside? I'll leave dad a note and disappear before he can say no."

"I'll be there in ten."

I found a post-it and wrote "Movies with a friend. BBL." before I stuck it to the door and left, running into Hannah on the way out.

"Hey, where're you goin'?" She asked, stuffing her face with what looked like a donut.

"Movies. See ya!" I pushed past her and made my way out into the parking lot, before she could ask to come with.

Lex was out there waiting for me, in his car. His car was a piece of crap, but at least he had one. I _could _get a job and by one myself...but I was lazy, and work and lazy people just don't go together. Lex had offered to see if I could get a job at Mannie's, the ice cream shoppe he worked at, and I'd considered it, but seeing as I had a father who had more than enough money, and a guy who would gladly drive me anywhere if my dad told him to, I didn't really need a car.

I guess dad didn't get my post-it though, because he was pretty fucking mad when I got home. He yelled at me for nearly an hour, before I finally left him in the hallway outside of my room and closed the door in his face. I don't think it's necessary to say that made him even more angry.

I used my cell phone to call Lex, and we talked for a couple hours, until my dad found out I was on the phone, and threatened to disconnect it.

So I hung up, and went to bed, only to find, in the morning, that my dad was waiting for me in the kitchen.

"Don't you have to work today?" I asked him, trying to seem all innocent, when I knew I wasn't. He was about to yell at me, I just knew it.

"Stephanie." He started. Not good, dad's being gay and calling me by my full name. What does that tell you?

"Richard." I replied, using the same tone. It, no doubt, made him more angry with me.

"I know you're still adjusting to life here. I know it's different from Chicago, with your mom."

I tuned the rest of dad's spiel out, and started picking at my fingernails. I needed to get that nail polish off.

"And so I think you need to get a job." He finished. I looked up at him, letting my hands drop to my sides.

"A _what?_" I asked him, sure I'd heard him wrong.

"A job. You know, where you work and make money?"

"I know what a fucking job is dad. Why do I have to get one?" I asked him, angry.

"Watch your language" He scolded. "You have to get a job because you're lazy and do absolutely nothing. It's just for the summer, it shouldn't be that hard."

I couldn't believe it. My dad, who let me get away with nearly everything, was making me get a job because I'm "lazy." I already have a job. It's calling ruining Hannah Montana.

We argued some more, and I stormed out of the house, while I took out my phone and called Lex.

"My dad's making me get a job." I told him. "Is that position at Mannie's still open?"

"Yeah, sure it is. I'll talk to Bart about it." He told me.

"Great. I totally love you." I assured him, as I turned a corner, heading who knows where.

"So where are you? I can come get you...we could go get something for lunch, or..."

"How about we go to your house?" I asked him, smiling, though he couldn't see it.

A week later, I had a job at Mannie's Ice Cream Shoppe. I hated how they spelled Shoppe. It was like Shop Pee.

Lex was supposed to be training me, but somewhere in the course of trying to get my nametag on without bleeding to death, we'd ended up making out in the office.

I had my back against the buletin board, and my arms around his neck. His hands were up my shirt, and _his_ shirt...he wasn't wearing it.

I moaned as he moved his lips to my neck, and then, the bell rang.

"Dammit. Stupid fucking bell." I muttered, as he put his shirt back on. Luckily, I wasn't the type to wear lipstick, so all he had to do was fix his hair, and go back out there. I fixed my hair, adjusted my apron, and followed him.

"Hello. how can I help you?" He asked the man behind the counter, who I found very rude, politely.

"Uh...get me a large vanilla cone." He told Lex rudely. I wanted to tell the guy he didn't need it, but Lex seemed to know that, and gave me a knowing look, before writing down the guys order, in abbreviations, on a pad of paper next to the cash register. He grabbed my hand, and showed me how to use the cash register, before he taught me how to make an ice cream cone. His, of course, was perfect. Mine...they were like the leaning tower of Piza. I couldn't make a straight one, no matter how many times I tried to. The art if Ice Cream is way harder than it seems.

Seeing as my cones were terrible, Lex left me to making the shakes. It wasn't that hard, but it was pretty difficult to mix one without splattering it across your chest.

I had a stripe of vanilla shake across my chest when I went up to take a guy's order, and he kept staring at it.

"Yeah, it's ice cream, and it's on my boobs. You wanna lick it off?" I asked him, rudely, as I took his money. He looked embarassed, and said nothing. When I passed Lex, to make the guy's shake, he raised an eyebrow at me, and continued making the banana split he had in front of him.

"_You _wanna lick it off?" I asked him, smiling, as I grabbed a small shake cup.

"You know I do." He replied, playfully.

By the end of the night, I'd insulted about ten people without knowing it, and Lex had only scolded me for one of them.

He left me to do the dishes, while he went out to clean the tables out front. I got soap in my eye twice, but it wasn't that difficult of a job. Washing the dishes consisted of rinsing the crap off, and leaving the stuff to sit in the other sink, which was full of this sanitizer stuff.

By the end of the night, I was extremely tired of standing up, and was very relieved when Lex took me home.

I, of course, was very annoyed, when Miley called me right after I got home, to talk about the new song, and my boyfriend, and all sorts of things I didn't really care to hear her talking about.

The next day at work was much easier. While I still couldn't make a perfect cone, like Lex could, mine had quit leaning. Now, they were too fat, and kept dripping over the edges.

It rained for the first two hours, so hardly anybody came by the shoppe. Lex and I spent most of our time in the office, drawing pictures and copying various body parts with the copy machine.

When Lex went to get us some lunch, I tried to get back to my plans of destruction. I hadn't a clue what to do next, and Lex wasn't of much help in that department. Hannah's newest song had gone over well, but with a completely different demographic than that of her usual songs. Her fans had gotten a little angry over it, but it would take an entire album of songs like that to really make a difference, and I didn't have a clue when it came to writing music. I'd have to talk to Lex about that. I decided to think about it later, and went out to help some loser who wanted ice cream in the rain.

When the sun came out, we got busy again, so I ended up running back and forth, splattering ice cream all over myself, being rude to the customers.

"Hey. Be nice." Lex scolded me, smiling, when I told a fat guy he'd be better off with a medium shake.

"I'm sorry. That'll be four dollars." I told him, before I started making his large Reese's peanut butter cup shake.

The amount of customers dwindled down by the end of the night, and at about quarter to nine, we had two groups of girls and an old guy, all by his lonesome, sitting outside. I started drawing stick people on what was left of the pad of paper, while Lex finished up what dishes we could do before closing.

"Excuse me." Somebody called out to me. I looked up, and one of the girls was waving her arm at me.

"Could you please make him leave? He's bothering us." They were talking about Trevor Greenwood, the guy from my school. He was standing at the end of their table, flirting with them. I'd have found it annoying too.

"Trevor. Leave them alone." I told him, before getting back to my drawings.

"Hey Steph, what's up?" He asked me, coming up to the counter.

"The ceiling." I muttered, not looking up from my picture.

"Haha, you're funny." He said, like he actually meant it. Lex came up behind me, and grabbed my butt, before he went to the back counter and got something he'd forgot to wash. I turned around to yell at him for it, but he just passed me, smiling.

"That your boyfriend?" Trevor asked me, much less enthusiastically.

"No. He's just some random guy that likes to grab my ass." I said sarcastically, turning back to him. He smiled at me again, and said,

"All the girls that will actually talk to me are taken." He complained, as Lex came back and put his arm around me, resting his elbow on the counter.

"Yeah well, maybe you should quit trying to get-wait a minute..." Trevor was girl crazy...and if he dressed a little better, he'd be pretty cute. Miley would like him...and he would like her...way _way_ too much. These two could fit into my plan perfectly.

"I have this friend..." I started, the light bulb over my head switching on.

* * *

**_Okay, now that I've totally destroyed this chapter...I may actually start something new..._**


	7. Chapter Siete

**_Hey everybody! I'm going to attempt to update much faster, but if it seems like I'm taking too long, drop me a PM and tell me to update. Most likely, I will. Unless that story is TM, because that one I have no ideas for...I'll update it eventually..._**

**_But really, you guys are the reason for this stuff, so if you're unhappy with my updating skills...go ahead and tell me._**

* * *

"I shouldn't have worn that dress. I blame you . You talked me into it." Miley complained, pointing at me, as she sifted through her fan mail, er...hater mail.

After the CMAs, she'd gotten a lot of flack for wearing such a revealing dress. Fashion buffs had agreed that it was a nice dress, but everybody seemed to think she was growing up too fast, and that dress was only proof. Mothers had been sending letters for weeks after that, telling her they wouldn't allow their kids to listen to her music anymore. I found that a bit drastic, but then again, those Hannah fans come from somewhere, right?

Eventually, it'd dwindled down to just fan mail. Most of them were young kids telling Hannah she wasn't their role model anymore, which I found a little stupid. She was more like a real person nowadays. Plus, it was ONE dress. People seemed to find this ordeal a little much, when, in fact, it was nothing. People wouldn't even remember it in year or two.

I really hated Hannah's fans. They were most of the reason I'd found Hannah herself so annoying. That and her perfection.

"You're _still _getting mail from those losers?" I asked, stuffing a handful of Dorito crumbs into my mouth, without looking up at Miley.

"They're not losers! They're my fans." She argued, setting the stack of letters down on her coffee table, and grabbing the remote.

"Your fans are losers. It's the same thing." I told her, as she spun the remote around in her hands a couple of times.

"They _are_ not." She muttered sheepishly, picking up the stack of fan mail again. She'd figured out she couldn't win when she was fighting me.

"I wish I would've worn something else though." She said, mostly to herself, a moment later.

"Miley. You could've worn the most beautiful dress ever created, and _somebody_ would've complained, because the color hurt their eyes, or something fucking stupid like that." I told her, as I settled into the space between the cushions on her couch a little more.

"Yeah, whatever. I guess you're right." She said, getting up to dump the letters in the trash can. On her way back, she stubbed her toe on the coffee table, something that, more than anything else, seemed to make her really mad.

"Shit! Holey fucking cow! That hurt!" She exclaimed, hopping back over to the couch, where she sat down and pulled her foot up into her lap. I suppose her little outburst did make a little bit of sense, I mean, her toe was bleeding, she had hit it so hard.

"You need a bandaid?" I teased her, not bothering to get up from the couch.

"_No_." She replied, in the same tone. Instead, she got up, grabbed a rag from the kitchen, used it to soak up the blood, and sat back down on the couch, resting both feet on the coffee table.

As the months had gone by, I'd started to notice a _little _change in Miley's personality. She was more quick to defend herself than she had been, and her concern for the ears of others seemed to have dwindled. Her language had...deteriorated. I took credit in that, I was the only one that actually cursed around her. Her dad said some really gay things like, "Sweet Nibblets" and "Dang Flabbit." He obviously didn't do much cussing on his own time...

Speaking of her father figure...Robby, er, _Mr_. _Stewart _came home minutes after Miley's injury. I'm not really sure where he'd been, probably a beach volleyball game, or the mall, or something strange for a guy that looked as manly as him. I had this weird feeling about him. I don't know what it is, but he creeps me out.

"Howdy girls, whatcha doin'?" He asked, setting his car keys on the counter.

"Uhh...watching TV." Miley told him. I glared at her. The TV was off. That was an extremely stupid thing to say.

Miley scrambled for the remote, and flipped on the TV. Barney was on.

"My favorite show! HA HA HA, a purple dinosaur, who woulda thunk it, ha ha ha..." Mr. Stewart just stared at her for a minute, before leaving the room.

"You are _really _bad at this."

"Well I couldn't exactly say I was reading fan mail. He would've wanted to read it, and then he'd be all, _"They shouldn't be saying this stuff to you, let's go beat their asses!" _...Well, he'd probably say something stupid like, "_You can't let it get to you, not everyone is gonna like you. You have to be strong!"_or, something like that."

"You need to get out of the house more often." I told her, freaked out by her scary accurate impression of her dad's voice.

"Well, I have that date with that loser you set me up with tonight...is _that _getting out of the house?"

"Tom's not a loser!" I objected. I'd been bugging her about this date for days, and she'd finally agreed to go on one little date with him. I knew that all Trevor would want would be to get in her pants. I could sort of tell that that was his goal when speaking to a girl, the first day I met him. Fortunately, he was very polite and friendly, and if you were stupid, like Miley, you wouldn't figure out what he wanted.

"I thought you said his name is Trevor..."

"It is." I replied, realizing that I had called him Tom.

"But you just said-"

"I know what I said." I interrupted. "Now go get ready, you only have an hour left 'til he gets here."

"WHAT?" She yelled, leaping off the couch and sprinting for the stairs.

I have a long way to go...

...

While Miley was on her date, I went to Lex's house. Neither of his parents were home that much, and at the time, they happened to be on a cruise, so Lex had the house all to himself.

"And so now she's on a date with him." I finished explaining what was going on with the Miley situation, while Lex and I sat in his parents' hot tub.

"Wait...are you talking about Trevor Greenwood? That guy that came by Mannie's the other day? You asked him to go on a date with her?"

"Yeah...Do you know him, or something?" I asked. Lex started laughing, and wouldn't stop, so I splashed him. He stopped laughing, and told me,

"You're a genius, and you don't even know it." He smiled, as he wrapped his arm around me, and pulled me up next to him.

"How am I a genius?" I asked.

"That kid is _legend. _Girl's can't seem to say no to him. He looks like a nerd, but somehow he gets girls to have sex with him. I've always wondered how he does it..."

"Oh my god, really?" I asked, excitedly. If this were true, this part of my plan would be even easier than I'd thought.

"I'm not lying." He told me, smiling.

"You better not be." I said, looping my right leg over his lap, sitting on his legs, facing him.

"No worries there, oh great one." He replied, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me up against his bare chest.

Smiling, I rested my hands on either side of his face, and told him,

"I love you." He looked like he didn't believe me. I'd said that a lot of times, and had never meant it then, but this time...I felt like it was true. "And I mean it." I added, before hooking an arm around his neck, and pressing my lips to his. He seemed to realize that I really _did_ mean it, and helped me show it to him.

His fingers fumbled with the strings holding my bikini on. I supposed it'd be hard to get it undone. I'd tied it pretty tight, and I wasn't exactly helping, moving around on his lap like this.

I reached behind my back and helped him to undo it, before flinging the entire top off, where it hit the edge of the hot tub, and slid to the floor. I pressed my chest to his, and started running my hands all over him, while my tongue found places besides his mouth.

"You...you wanna..."He started to say, rendered temporarily speechless by his own excitement.

"Uh huh." I mumbled, my words given the space between my lips and his neck to escape.

"I don't have a condom." He whispered in my ear.

"Do you have AIDS?" I asked him, sitting back again, for a moment.

"No." He told me, his eyes narrowing. He looked confused.

"Then we're okay." I said, before resuming what I'd been doing before.

"But what about-" He started to say, before I interrupted him.

"I'm on the pill Lex, it's fine. Do you want to or not?" I asked him. He paused for a second, and then answered my question by grabbing a hold of my sides, and moving me so that _I _was against the edge of the hot tub, and _he_ was on top of me.

...

"So how was the date? I asked Miley, when she called me later that night. I tried to sound enthusiastic, like I actually cared about what she _thought _about him, and not what he _did _with him.

I was in the bathroom, about to take a bath, to wash...Lex germs, off of me. I grabbed a towel, and hung it over the edge of the bathtub, while she answered my question.

"It's was good. He's really nice, if you forget about how badly he wanted to get in my pants." She said, her voice muffled. She was obviously more interested in whatever food she was eating, rather than this conversation.

"Aw, he's just like that. He'll quit bugging you eventually. So, more importantly, are you going out again?" I asked. I didn't usually ask people questions like this, but it seemed to get her talking, so that's what I did.

"Yeah, actually, we're going to a move on Friday." She told me.

"Sounds fun." I replied, as I turned on the water, and tested the temperature with my fingers.

"Yeah. So do you wanna come to that party I told you about? On Saturday?" She asked, changing the subject.

I pulled my shirt over my head, setting the phone on the bathroom counter for a moment, in order to do so.

Saturday...Saturday... I had plans with Lex on Friday, I had to work on Sunday...and Saturday...

"Sure. I don't think I have anything going on." I told Miley, with the phone up to my ear again.

"Good. I would ask Lilly, but we got in another fight, and I'm not so sure she'll ever want to go somewhere with me again."

"What'd you fight about?" I asked her, cautiously, as I climbed into the bathtub. She tended to get a little worked up over the whole Lilly thing.

"Oh, shes just accusing me of "changing who I am" and all that shit. She doesn't know what she's talking about, _she's _the one changing. I mean, she never got so mad at me on a regular basis before. I'm pretty sure I'm just gonna give up on her. I don't want to, but, you know, I'm pretty sure she does." She rambled, her voice muffled again. It was really starting to bug me. I had to ask.

"Are you eating something?" I asked her, my arm getting tired from holding the phone out of the water.

"Yeah." She told me, the tone of her voice changing to one of confusion.

"What?" I asked her.

"An orange."

"Okay."

"Why'd you ask?" She asked me.

"I just wanted to know." I told her, shifting my position in the bath tub.

"So yeah, Saturday. We'll meet at my house at about 1, so we can get your disguise ready." She told me, changing the subject.

"Okay." I replied. "...Is it a _good _orange?" I asked, changing the subject back to what she was eating.

"Yes it is. I'm gonna go now, okay? It's getting late, and I'm not supposed to be on the phone this long. I'll see you later." She told me, getting away from my obsessing over her orange.

"Alright. See you later." I told her, before I hung up.

I was relieved to set the phone down, my arm was falling asleep, but then again, I didn't really want to hang up. As much as I didn't want to admit it...I think I might possibly be starting to like her.

* * *

**_Yeah, okay, so that last part was a little weird...but I'm craving an orange right now, for some reason...and we don't have any...so I have to imagine._**

**_Anyway, I'm sorry for the shortness of this chapter, I knew I had to start it at a certain point, and end it at a certain point, and I knew one of the points in between, but all of the other points...Well, I thought they'd be a bit longer. _**

**_So, R&R, okay?_**


	8. Chapter Ocho

**_Okay, so this is one of the longest chapters, for anything, that I have written in a while. It took me all week, so you better appreciate it!

* * *

_**

As the weeks slowly went by, Miley and Trevor's fake relationship seemed to be turning into a real one.

For her, at least. I'd learned from people that knew him that Trevor never took anything seriously, and from what I could tell, this seemed to be one of those things he wasn't concerned with. Sure, he was polite, and he took her to movies, and dinner, and acted like all he wanted was to get to know her better, but I think everybody but Miley knew that that wasn't his real intention.

The seriousness of Miley's relationship with Trevor wasn't the only thing about her that was evolving. Every day, I noticed her personality being altered, ever so slightly. I pegged that as the effects of just hanging around me, queen of horrible habits, and not the effects of my scheming.

Nothing I was doing really seemed to be doing anything. I was changing Miley, but not Hannah. Nobody _knew _Miley, and _she _wasn't the one they thought was so perfect. I suppose when the core of one identity begins to change, the other does too, but doing it that slow, boring, way wasn't fast enough for me.

I have a severely low level of patience. It's never served me well, but I have never bothered to do anything about it. This wasn't a situation where my patience wasn't important, like the ones I so often skipped, so, unfortunately, I was getting frustrated with the whole thing, and the only thing I could do about it was quit..

"Do you ever feel bad about what you're doing?" Lex asked me, his strong, steely, arms wrapped around my torso, like he was never going to let it, or the rest of my body, go.

"Sometimes." I admitted. "But then I think about how annoying she used to be, and I don't feel so guilty anymore. I'm doing the world a favor, you know." I told him, my head resting on his warm, bare, chest.

"Of course you are." He agreed, rubbing the two layers of the fabric lining the blanket covering us against each other. "They've been misled, thinking there's actually people that perfect out there, that don't even have to try."

"Mmmhmm." I mumbled, pulling my arm out from under his, before wrapping my fingers around his strangely delicate, for a guy as strong everywhere else as he is, wrist.

"But then there's you. You're an exception." He replied, shaking ever so slightly with tiny silent laughter.

"Whatever. I'm not perfect."

"Of course not." He replied, with such sarcasm that it led me to think he didn't believe me.

"It is wrong though." I told him, thinking about what exactly it was, that I was doing, and how she was, without her knowledge of it, being transformed into another person, unwillingly.

"Maybe in her world." Lex replied, squeezing me even tighter against his stone-hard chest.

...

"I've had a very bad day." Miley told me, as she lay down on my couch, closing her eyes in defeat. I wanted to say something about how it was only noon, ergo, she still had half the day left, but instead, I just reached across the book I was reading, to the table next to my chair, and handed Miley the bottle that was resting, coaster-less, on top of it.

"I probably shouldn't. I have a concert tonight." She said, giving excuses to herself more than to me. She knew what I'd say, and, therefore, I needn't say it.

"Ah, what the hell, I've got a couple hours." She decided, talking to herself. She knew I didn't care what she decided on, at the moment.

I flipped the page of the book I was reading, out of boredom, just as I heard the sweet sound of her lips pulling away from the bottle.

"I don't know what's going on with us." She told me, four pages and five sips later. I knew that by "us" she meant herself and Trevor, and seeing as, disgusting though their sex life might be, I wanted to know what was going on, so I listened.

"What do you mean?" I asked, acting like I didn't care, as I folded the corner of the page I was on, to hold my place, and set my book down.

"I don't know, just...well...a couple weeks ago, we...uhhh...ever since-"

"Ever since he swiped his Visa through your register?"

"You could put it that way..." She said, obviously embarrassed to admit what she'd done with him. I, of course, had known about this since it had happened, seeing as Trevor has a big mouth, and is very open about the things he does in his free time.

"But ever since then, he just kind of...ignores me. He hasn't called all week...he hasn't invited me anywhere all month...I just...I don't know." She mumbled, before taking another swig from the bottle.

I wanted to tell her that after you go to the grocery store with a guy like that, you can't expect any more food money, but that would give me away, since it was I that had set them up. I kept my dangerously foul mouth shut.

She took another drink, and I was debating whether or not to take it away from her, for the sake of her concert, when the phone rang. I picked it up, while Miley took another drink, and hit the tiny green button.

It was Lex, who distracted me for a full fifteen minutes, with his pointless chatter. Since I saw no end of this conversation in sight, I told him I'd have to call him later, and hung up, before I practically tore the bottle out of Miley's hands, poured the last tiny bit down my own throat, without letting it touch my lips, of course, and threw it away.

I chalked the tears that started coming from Miley at that exact moment, up as her "bad day" instead of her newfound dependance on alcohol, that may or may not, be my own fault.

"Come on. Don't cry. You'll smear your makeup, and at your concert, the audience will freak out and call an exterminator when you come on stage." I rambled, trying, somehow, to get her to stop crying. I hated when people cried. Most of the time, it was my own fault, which meant that I'd been picking on someone weak enough to take me seriously.

"Why would they call an exterminator?" She asked, wiping her eye and smearing her mascara anyway.

"They'd think you're a raccoon, duh." I told her, heading to the kitchen to get her something to wipe off the black streaks with.

"Oh. Right." She mumbled, sitting up.

"Here." I gave her one of our good dishrags, a thin, extremely soft, navy blue one, that I hadn't let my dad use for dishes since I'd gotten here, out of fear he would ruin it.

I was more afraid of dishrag ruination than the corruption of a teenage girl. If that doesn't say something about me, I don't know what does.

I knew she couldn't ruin the rag by wiping her tears on it, and that was the only reason I gave it to her. I'd probably wash it, by itself, in hot water right after she left, either way.

When she handed the cloth back to me, I immediately took it to the sink, and rinsed it off. When I tossed it into the pile of dirty laundry, lingering outside the adjoining mudroom's door, I caught sight of the clock.

2:14. Time sure flies when you're wiping tears.

"You should probably get home and start getting ready. It's after 2 already, and it looks like it's going to take you a while." I told her, thinking of how buzzed she appeared to be, and the reaction she'd get from her dad once she got home.

"Get ready for whaaat?" She asked me, unnecessarily extending the word "what."

"For your concert. Come on, get up!" I attempted to pull her off of the couch, but she didn't seem to want to help me. So I tugged harder. When I did _that, _she _did_help me, causing her to move forward much faster than was expected, consequently, slamming her forehead on the coffee table.

"Oww..." She mumbled, laughing, for some reason, while she got back up. "Thanks a lot."

The mark on her forehead was bleeding profusely, and I_ thought _about getting the blue rag, to help sop it up, but I didn't. I could get mascara stains out of my favorite washcloth, but not blood stains.

So I steered her out the door, and across the street, where, thankfully, her father's car was not currently parked.

Once inside, I grabbed a couple of napkins off the counter, next to the stove, and pressed them to the cut.

"I can do it myself!" Miley exclaimed, ripping them from my hands and trying to sop up imaginary blood from an imaginary cut a couple inches too low. I grabbed her hand and moved it up, issuing a glare in my direction.

"Fine. Whatever. I don't wanna play nurse anyway." I mumbled, leaning against the counter, to watch her do it herself.

"Do you need help getting up the stairs, or will you be taking the portion of the wall next to it?" I asked her sarcastically, imagining her running right into the wall next to the desired staircase, as I said it.

"I can do it myself." She grumbled, tossing the bloody paper napkins into the trashcan inside one of the cupboards.

"_Okay then._" I mumbled, surprised by her sudden hostility. I wanted to ask her how much was in the bottle when she drank it, but decided that that would only get me a glare and a "none of your business."

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow then." I called, leaving the house.

"No. You're coming with me, Clarice." She replied, finally inviting me to one of her concerts.

Clarice Randall was my very own alter-ego. I was supposed to be Hannah's 12th cousin, something nobody with better things, like breathing, to do, would actually look into.

I hadn't quite pulled off the snotty rich girl accent yet, but I was getting better. I had finally quit sounding like a French walrus with a head cold, and was starting to sound more human. I didn't really have to worry much about my voice though, because hardly anybody but Hannah spoke to me backstage, except for, on rare occasions, her father. He knew who I really was, but I think he'd made it clear already that he liked Lola better than me. I wasn't sure if that was because he didn't really know me, or because he suspected me in the string of rebellions he'd been getting by way of his daughter.

When we got to the stadium at quarter to six, 'Hannah' left me in her dressing room, while she went off to rehearse one of the newer, more difficult, dance numbers. I mostly just sat in a metal folding chair in the corner, and sifted through the box of junk on the table next to me. She had a lot of hair accessories for somebody without real hair.

When Hannah came back, she looked severely out of breath. If I'd been able to hear, over the sound of the audience starting to come in out front, I probably would've heard it, too. I figured it probably had something to do with the small amount of alcohol still in her system, combined with the weird dance moves she'd been doing for the last hour.

"I'm so tired. I don't want to do this tonight." She told me, while I fiddled with my long wavy, fake brown hair. My hair was naturally a dark blonde color, and, though my real hair was long and slightly wavy too, the darker color washed my face out so badly that even I couldn't recognize myself. I looked like a vampire, or at least, part albino. I was naturally pale, because of a blood nutrient condition that I had, but living in California for a couple months had darkened my skin tone a little bit. With this stupid itchy wig on, I looked much more pale than I had on arriving in Cali.

"It's part of the job, isn't it?" I asked her, as I examined an extremely dry strand of fake hair, and started wondering what my wig was made of.

"Yeah." She sighed, splashing water from the sink on her face, getting ready for the tons of makeup she'd soon be getting on her face.

I tugged at the mini skirt I was wearing, wondering who in their right mind would wear something with this pattern willingly. It looked to me like something a Girl Scout with ADHD would wear to the White House, if she were high, and colorblind.

The only sound louder than the annoying teenyboppers screaming from excitement out in the audience was the crew back stage. There was so much that they had to do, that I was willing to bet they got paid a whole crap-load of money for this job. Things that looked too heavy to be moved without a bulldozer were moved around, easily, by these huge guys.

There were people _everywhere, _and they all were doing something different. A couple of nerdy guys were fiddling with some metal contraption that Hannah explained to be "the lift," while some largely overweight men that looked like they never left their computer chair adjusted the lights.

The opening band was getting ready to head on stage, so everybody backstage was going crazy, getting ready. I couldn't imagine doing this every night. I understood why my dad decided to stay behind the music itself. They had a deadline, but if they didn't meet it, there weren't thousands of preteen girls that wanted their money back.

I sat in my folding chair for what seemed like forever, but in reality, was only an hour and a half, watching Hannah get her hair and makeup done, find her first 'costume', put it on, and then fix her makeup again. By the time the opening act was finished, Hannah had to be wearing two inches of makeup on her face.

When she went off to start her vocal exercises, I wandered around, watching people do their job. I wasn't quite sure what Mr. Stewart's job was, seeing as he just stood around attempting to distract people with his horrible jokes.

Finally, Hannah was ushered down under the stage, where she climbed on "the lift," which, if I was told correctly, would raise her up onto the stage, where she'd then get soaked with mist. She wasn't supposed to get very wet, but they guys that had set it up seemed to have it on too high.

I wasn't really sure why they were bringing her up in the back of the stage, where hardly anybody'd be able to see her, but they claimed to know what they were doing, so I didn't complain.

I stood to the side of the stage, and watched as it got quiet outside, and the mist machine started. All you could really see, from any side, I'm guessing, was her silhouette, as she was brought up onto the stage.

Then, the music started. It was my song. Well, it was the one I'd helped her with. She'd slowed it down a little, and I noticed that the guy with the mohawk was just wandering around backstage with his tambourine, looking lost.

I couldn't help but smile when she quickly glanced over at me, to see my reaction. The audience seemed at a loss for words for the whole first half of the song, and the guys running around backstage with clipboards they didn't seem to be using, were freaking out, afraid that nobody liked the song.

When she hit the chorus, I noticed it was the one I'd helped her write over the phone a couple weeks back. She looked at me again, and the second she looked back at he audience, they exploded. With cheering and applause, that is. However nice it would be to eliminate all of the annoying brats out there, I'd probably be blamed, somehow. At least by Miley's dad. He was giving me a weird look, through the mist, from the other side of the stage, where he was watching from.

When the song finally ended, Hannah dropped back down, using the lift again, to change her outfit for the next song. It was when she brushed her hair behind her ear that I noticed she was bleeding again. She must've sweated off all of the makeup that'd been clogging the cut, keeping it from bleeding.

I was about to say something, but everybody was in such a hurry that she was shoved back onto the lift before I could even say anything.

Unfortunately, Hannah was scheduled to wear the same outfit for the next three songs, so she wouldn't come back down again. If she hadn't been bleeding very hard, I wouldn't have been bothered, but the alcohol still in her veins wouldn't let the wound close, so it kept coming out, and nobody knew it. Her hair was covering it, so nobody but I had saw it.

I rushed back up to my spot next to the stage, and watched her for a while. She seemed to be stumbling around the stage, by the second song, and by the third, she'd given up on half of the dance moves, and was just gripping the microphone stand, in a somewhat suggestive way. By the time she ended up back on the lift, she looked ready to pass out.

When the lift came to a stop under the the stage, and she was laying across it, unconscious, I decided I'd made the wrong choice by not saying anything.

**_So now you review, my lovers. Tell me what you thInk._**


	9. Chapter Nueve

**_I'm sad to say, you guys, that I will most likely be leaving this website after I finish my still-in-progress fics, which include this one. I'm nearly done with this, which means it won't be THAT long. I'm just SICK AND TIRED of the annoying rude parasites that have taken over the HM fandom and REFUSE TO GIVE IT BACK. It's nowhere near the way it used to be. I mean, I've got nothing against the Jonas Brothers. Let them do what they want. But I do have something against the boring all-JB stories, filled with the author's fantasies. They aren't supposed to be on the site, and I refuse to read them. That's pretty hard though, when that's all there is in the entire HM category. We've lost many the good author because of this, and I'm just going to be another one added to the list that nobody cares about anymore. _**

**_I may move over to WOWP, where I am actually more welcome. I've already got a fic over there, and it seems to be doing well. Also, there are less than ten against-the-rules JB fics over there. Most likely, however, I will be finishing up TM and leaving the site forever. I'm gonna miss all of you faithful readers. And some of you annoying new ones :P (I'm kidding...you know that, right?)_**

**_BUT, before I go, I will most likely hit the 8,000 profile hits mark. Which, if you will go to my profile, means something. There's a poll at the top of the page, and this time, if you vote, you will actually get something from it._**

The amazing amount of guilt taking over my body, rushing through my veins, as I watched the EMTs hurry toHannah's stirring body, disappeared within seconds, and gave way to the sickening nausea pooling in my stomach. I felt like I'd just gotten off a roller coaster after ten continuous rides on it. With the EMTs right there, I thought about asking them to take me too, but decided not to, as they lifted Hannah's now semi-awake body up onto a stretcher. Following them out of the stadium, five steps behind, I heard Hannah call,

"Happy Birthday Stephie!" The guilt started coming back, until my brain kicked back in, and told me that my birthday wasn't until tomorrow. I couldn't help but smile, even though her inner callendar, among other things, was off.

I wanted to climb into the ambulance with Hannah, as I was mainly responsible for her need to ride in it, but her dad pushed by me, rudely making sure that he nearly knocked me over, and climbed in, before I could take a step. So I just stood there, my hand on my churning stomach, my pupils expanding as the dark got darker.

...

Nobody but Miley herself bothered to call me and tell me what was going on. The day after the incident, on my 17th birthday, the phone rang at 9 A.M. My concern for her well-being, for once, took over my anger at being woken up so fucking early on my _birthday, _so I let her get away with that one_._

"Steph! I'm so sorry I'm calling you this early, but dad's making me go see some shrink or something, and I really wanted to talk to you about something...would you mind meeting me down at Rico's? I don't think they're open yet, so..." Her voice was strange. It was...fake. Like she was angry, and trying to hide it.

"Ummm, yeah, okay...I'll be there in...three hours." I replied, before collapsing on my pillow, with the phone still next to my head.

"I need to talk to you NOW." Miley yelled into the phone, obviously pissed off.

"Fine, whatever, quit freaking out, I'll be there in like, ten minutes." I grudgingly got up from my bed, splashed some water in my face, and threw on an old hoodie over my PJs, before making my way down to Rico's by the time I told her I would.

When I got there, she was sitting on the bar, swinging her legs back and forth, staring at the seams of her jeans. Rico would probably pulverize her with some sort of lazergun he no doubt has in his basement, if he saw her, but I climbed up there with her, not caring what anybody would do about it.

"Steph." She whispered, swinging her legs more slowly.

"He thinks I'm an alcoholic."

"Who does?" I asked, stupidly. I knew the answer.

"My dad. The doctor does too. He told dad I'm a" She used air quotes on this, "'seasoned drinker.'"

"You?" I laughed. "Honey, you're nowhere _near_ seasoned." I tried to sound sympathetic, like a good friend, but I couldn't. I found the whole situation funny. "What happened yesterday wouldn't happen to a seasoned drinker. There wasn't that much left in that bottle when you took it, and you still ended up drunk."

"He's the doctor, not me...or you." She stared at the sand below her swinging feet for a couple of seconds. "Steph, I don't like who I am anymore." She turned her head slightly, and stared at me through the curtain of long wavy hair between us. I pushed my identically textured locks behind my ear, and listened intently. "I don't want to blame you..." She continued, pushing a strand of her hair behind her own ear, "but ever since you moved here...ever since you've been my friend...I've...changed."

"I...uhhh..." I wasn't sure what was going on in my stomach, but I felt nauseus again. I wasn't sure if it was nerves, or if I had just eaten something at Hannah's concert that I shouldn't have.

"I mean, you're my best friend, but I have to wonder if you're not a bad influence on me." Her voice turned fake again. I could tell she was mad, and I wondered why she was trying to hide it.

Her hair fell into her face again, and she left it there.

I didn't know what to say. I _was _a bad influence. More than she knew. If Miley knew about what I'd been doing to her...she'd hate me for life. I wasn't so sure I wanted that.

"I'm...sorry." I offered, trying to sound genuinely sorry. I wasn't sure if it worked, because next, she just said,

"I'm not going to blame you for anything until I have a reason to. You don't need to apologize."

All I wanted just then was to say "I _do _need to apologize. You have all the reasons in the world to blame me. You should _hate _me." but I couldn't do it. I'm a coward.

She pulled her fallen hair behind her ear, and finally looked me straight in the eyes. Her own were bloodshot, and her face was pale. She took one look at the expression on my face, and burst into tears.

"I didn't want to do it, I didn't _mean _to do it, but...it was just staring at me from the cupboard...every time I opened it to get a glass of water...it just...looked at me...and I had to. They're right, Steph, I'm a horrible person. I'm an alcoholic."

"No no no no no, " I muttered, pulling her into a hug. "You're _not_ a horrible person. If you want to quit, you can. You just have to believe it." I could feel the shoulder of my shirt soaking through, with her tears, as I spoke those typical, cheesy, dramatic-movie words.

"I can't." She replied, ripping herself out of my arms, and jumping down from the bar. I slithered off myself, only a little more gently, and went after her as she ran down to the beach.

"Leave me alone!!" She yelled at me, her anger finally breaking through the calm mask she'd been wearing, as she ran straight into the water.

"Only when you really want me to." I called after her, stepping into the freezing cold, early morning tide.

"I _do_ want you to!" She cried, through her tears. She looked more depressed than I'd ever seen her. It scared me. I knew, from my experience at breaking her, just how fragile she was. I was worried about what she might do, if I made her any more angry.

"You don't mean it. Miley, I quit smoking, okay? I decided to quit, and Lex helped me, and now It wouldn't even effect me if you smoked a thirty foot long cigarette right in front of me. If you want to quit, I'll help you."

"No you won't." She swung around, looking as if she'd just figured something out. Her expression changed from one of severe depression, to one of extreme rage in a matter of seconds. "It's YOUR fault! It's your fault I'm like this in the first place! You kept offering me the bottle, and I KEPT TAKING IT!" She screamed in my face.

"And I shouldn't have done that, I know it was wrong. I started this, so I'm going to help you end it."

"Why'd you do it?" She asked me, her tears drying up on her cheeks. Her eyes were still red though.

"I honestly couldn't tell you. It was stupid." I admitted.

"There had to be a reason. What'd you think, that it'd be funny to ruin me? Is that it?" She asked, nearly hitting the mark.

"Something like that." I mumbled. I couldn't keep lying to her. My body was forcing me to tell the truth. Every party of me was pushing for a full explanation, a real, meaningful, apology.

"Why'd you try to destroy me?" She whispered, the quiet before the storm.

"I..." I couldn't say it. I am a coward. A stupid fucking coward. "I can't tell you."

"YES YOU CAN!" She screamed in my face, exploding into a thousand tiny innocent little pieces.

"I can't, I really can't. I don't know." I replied, tears coming out of my own eyes. "I'm so, so, sorry." I muttered, as she came at me.

"Miley please, please forgive me."

"How can I forgive you?" She asked, her voice high-pitched, hysterical, breathless.

"Please Miley...you're the only friend I have here."

"You have Lex." She muttered. "So why don't you just forget me? Go hang out with your stupid loser boyfriend, and laugh about me behind my back, all you want."

As mad as I should be, about her calling my boyfriend a loser, I couldn't get angry. That emotion was broken. I knew Lex wasn't a loser. He was farthest thing from a loser that I knew. He was way too good for me, and I knew that. I also knew that I deserved for Miley to be mad at me. She could stab me right in the heart, and I would _still _deserve it. I'd been a horrible, horrible, person.

"I'm not gonna do that." I told her, my own sad excuse for tears starting to dry up, along with my voice. It was the truth. I was going to go home, and lock myself in my room until she forgave me. Which would be never.

"YES YOU WILL!" She screamed at me. "Just go! GO FUCK HIM TIL HE SHATTERS, YOU PERFIDIOUS BITCH!" In her rage, she came at me, and slapped me right across the face. My curiosity as to how she knew what the word perfidious meant, disappeared, as my face started stinging. My eyes watered, my stomach convulsed, and I threw up, right there in the watery sand, as she walked away. I sank down to my knees, and released all of the contents of my stomach into the ocean, all by myself.

...

"Stephanie?" My dad called through my locked bedroom door. "Are you okay?"

"NO!" I yelled from my bed, my voice muffled by the tear-soaked pillow I had over my head.

My life was getting worse and worse as it went on. I might as well just suffocate myself with this stupid pillow.

"Honey, what's wrong? It's that boy, isn't it?" Partly.

"NO!" I repeated, dampening the part of the pillowcase over my mouth with the steam from my breath.

"Steph, I really need to get to work..but if you'd rather I stayed here..."

"Just go!" I yelled, repeating the words Miley had screamed at me only a couple of hours prior, only much less angry.

"You can call me if you need anything, okay? My work number's on the fridge." Dad called through the door. I didn't say anything, and listened to his footsteps, as they diminished, and the door slammed behind him.

I knew I needed to leave my room, but I couldn't. I refused to get up, even though my empty stomach was begging me for food. I refused to answer the phone, even though Lex had called me nearly twenty times. I refused to close my eyes, even though they were forcing me to.

I was feeling more emotional than I had at any other point in my life. Even at the hospital, after Vicky had died. I hadn't been this emotional then, and I would NEVER see _her _again. I would see Miley again. Whether it be the next time I looked out my window, or the next time I turned on my TV. She would torture me for the rest of my life, as the friend I'd once had.

I knew partly where all of this emotion was coming from, but I didn't want to believe it. I wanted to believe that I felt like this because I'd finally made a legitimate friend, somebody I actually cared deeply about, and then lost her. It was my own damn fault, and I knew that.

My phone rang again, and, out of pure humor, I looked at the screen. It was Carrie.

"Hello?" I answered, drying my tears.

"Steph, how are you? I haven't heard from you all month!" She called into the phone.

"Yeah Steph, we thought maybe Hannah murdered you." Danni's distant voice called. I knew she was kidding, but I wanted to believe that she was serious.

"I've been busy." I replied, trying to sound like I wasn't upset.

"So how's everything going, with the ruination and all?" Carrie asked, the exact words I_ didn't _want to hear.

"Horrible. I give up. I'm not doing it anymore." I told her, my voice cracking as I said it.

"Why? Do you actually like her, or something?" Danni asked, confused.

"Yes, I do. Do you have a problem with that?"

"But what about-"

"Danni, shut up." Carrie whispered, loud enough that I could hear it, but quiet enough that she hadn't intended for me to.

"Steph, what's wrong?"

"Everything." I replied, my voice cracking again, like I was stepping on a piece of glass with rocks underneath it, shattering it with every step.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked, being my considerate best friend, just as she'd always been. She was a real friend, but Miley'd been a better friend. She'd talk about herself, no matter how annoying it would get. It wasn't always about me. Most of the time, it was about her, but I didn't mind. Growing up so full of myself, due in part to the actions of my friends, had made me the way I was, and I hated it.

"No, I don't, if that's okay. I need to call my boyfriend, actually."

"Oh, okay. Well...hopefully everything gets better. You can always call us, you know. We're here to listen if you want to speak."

"I'll remember that." I replied, before I hung up and set my phone down, too scared to call Lex, even though seconds before, I'd fully planned on doing it.

I closed my eyes, wishing that I could fall asleep, but my brain wouldn't let me. My mind wanted to torture me, for all of the bad deeds I'd done.

Just as I was about to drift off though, several hours later, there was a tap on my door.

"Steph?" The interrupter of sleep asked.

"_What?" _I whined, not completely awake.

"Can I come in?" He asked. It was then that I recognized the voice. It was Lex.

I mumbled "yes", and the door opened. He made his way over to my bed, and sat down, pulling me into his lap as he pressed his back up against the wall.

"What's wrong?" He asked me.

"What makes you think anything's wrong?" I asked him, sniffling..

"Umm, let's see. One, you haven't been answering my calls. Two, you're in bed and it's three o'clock. ...And three, your eyes are blood red. You've been crying."

"I can't do it anymore." I told him, wrapped my arms around his muscled bicep, which was curled around my waist.

"Can't do what?" He asked. He sounded scared.

"I _like _Hannah. I can't ruin her. She found out, and she hates me now." I explained, before my abdomen spasmed, as I sucked in an abnormal mount of air, starting to cry again.

"That's...You don't _have _to do it, you know. Don't feel like it's required of you." I mumbled an agreement, and continued crying.

"She'll come around. She won't hate you forever."

"I know." I muttered into his warm, steely chest. My tears soaked his shirt, I could feel the wetness against my cheek.

"What else is wrong?" He asked, warily. He could tell the reason behind all of my tears wasn't _just _my friendship problems. I'd had many problems with my friends, and I'd always gotten through them calmly. This was more than one thing upsetting me, and he was aware of that.

I took a deep breath, released his arm to wipe my tears, and told him,

"I think I'm pregnant."

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**_If you love me, you'll review! Even if you HATE me, you'll review. Just...review. Because reviews are mind-changing._**

**_By the way, "perfidious" means "deliberately faithless; treacherous; deceitful" for those of you without a dictionary. I thought it to be a very appropriate word, for this particular story. Plu it sounds cool when you pair it with the word "bitch."_**

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	10. Chapter Diez

**_Okay guys, so the leaving thing isn't for sure yet, but even if I do end up leaving, it won't be for a while. I have to finish everything, and I'm pretty slow about that. It'll take a while._**

**_I don't think there's much left of this one though. Maybe two or three more chapters. But then I've got a completely new story that will be up by Monday. On Monday, if I have any will power._**

**_Okay guys, I'm gonna be nice here, and tell you whatto pay attention to, okay? The ending. Pay attention to the last paragraph. You don't wanna miss it._**

I could see how badly he wanted to yell at me. His lip was quivering, and turning white. He closed his eyes and let go of my waist, so that he could clench his fists without hurting me.

"Are you sure?" He asked, quietly, his voice strangely calm.

"Well...no, not exactly...I haven't taken a test or anything..."

"Then we'll go do that. To be sure." He told me, his eyelids shooting up, as he climbed off my bed. I didn't want to move, but I wanted to know for sure, just as much as he did.

I reluctantly got dressed, and met Lex out in his car, where he was waiting, with an impatient expression on his face, for me. I slid into the passenger seat, and stared at him the entire way to the closest convenience store. There was a lot of traffic, so I stared at his angry face for nearly twenty minutes, but he never looked at me. Not once. I knew he was mad, and he should be, It would be my fault if what we both feared turned out to be true, but he'd initiated it many more times than I had.

His car swiftly turned into the parking lot of a gas station, and he pulled into a parking space right outside the door. Finally, he turned to look at me. His eyes were angry, tense, but the rest of his face was unnaturally calm.

"So?" He asked, motioning for me to get out. I did as I was told, something I'd enjoyed much more when he wasn't in a mood like this, and climbed out without his help. He grabbed a hold of my hand, and steered me inside, and to the correct aisle, like he'd been here before, like he had it memorized.

He looked at me, and then at the shelf, urging me to grab one.

"I...uhh...Lex-"

"Just take one." He demanded, his face showing the anger he was feeling. I turned to the shelf, making sure not to look at him again, and scanned the shelf. I grabbed an EPT and looked up at him. He ripped it out of my hands, and led the way to the cash register, taking out his wallet while he walked. He roughly slammed it on the counter, earning a scolding look from the elderly cashier behind it. She rang it up, he paid, and we were out of there seconds later. The trip home was shorter, but no different socially, than the trip there had been. He gripped the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles were turning pure white.

"Lex...if it...if it says that...If I am..." I couldn't get myself to say the word I despised so much, "_pregnant_...what are we gonna do?" He glanced at me, and back to the road, without saying anything.

"What am..._I_...gonna do..." I altered my statement, more for myself to hear than him, realizing just then what I'd gotten myself into. If the box in my hands told me what I didn't want to know, I'd be in it myself. He wouldn't be staying with me. He didn't...love me enough to stay with me through this.

I'd never been the kind of person to pray. My mother took me to church one time, when I was five, before she'd started drinking, but she hadn't taken me since. I didn't usually pray for anything, but I did now. I prayed to God that I wasn't pregnant, that this was just a false alarm. Somehow, I knew that I was, though. I'd deserve it, too, if I was. I'd been a horrible person, and if this was God's way of punishing me, I'd find a way to deal with it. By myself.

His car stopped in front of my house, and he got got out without waiting for me. I wanted to just sit in the car for a while, away from this new, angry, Lex, but I knew what he'd do if I did.

I got out and followed him inside, where I found him in the kitchen. There was no reason to worry about my dad coming home. When he went to work, he was there for hours on end. He enjoyed working more than he enjoyed spending time with me. Not that he knew much about what that was like. My dad didn't know me. He would never see this coming. My mom, however, would. She knew me, even if I knew exactly what she was.

"Alright." Lex said, obviously wanting this to be over, so he could leave me and go impregnate some other unfortunate girl.

"Okay." I whispered back, taking the stupid box into the bathroom with me. I didn't want to take the test, weird as that sounds. I pretty much knew what the results would be, and the longer I didn't know for sure, the longer he'd stay with me. I shouldn't want him to stay though. If he's the kind of guy that would leave me because of something this, I shouldn't want him. If I have to trick him into staying with me...

I left the bathroom moments later, the life-changing stick in my hand, and sat down on one of the bar stools, next to Lex. He grabbed it from me, and put it in the plastic cup he had setting in front of him, and we waited. And waited...and waited. It seemed like it was taking forever, like the seconds had turned into minutes, and the minutes into hours.

A couple minutes later, he nodded at the stupid stick, and I reluctantly pulled it out of the cup, to see...

I burst into tears, hyperventilating, unable to deal with the answer I had known I'd be getting. The answer that looked right back at me.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so...sorry!" I told him, when I could breath.

"God Steph!" He yelled, slamming his hand down on the counter. "You _TOLD_ me you were on the fucking pill!"

"I am Lex, I've been on it forever." I defended, banging my forehead on the counter. I wrapped my arms around my head, and cried all by myself, in my own little world.

"How did this happen, then?"

"It's ninety-nine percent effective, you know that. I can't help it if your little swimmers have superpowers or something!" I yelled back at him. I couldn't be the pre-me Miley, I couldn't act inferior, I couldn't burst into tears every time he spoke to me like this.

"THIS IS YOUR FAULT!" He screamed at me, the second I suggested he had something to do with it.

"What do you want me to say Lex, "Just kidding"? I can't. This is real." I replied, looking up at him, trying to stay calm.

"What do you want _ME_ to say? You can't just expect me to be calm about this!"

"I would love it if you told me you loved me, and that we'd get through this together. But what I want is for you to decide what you want to do. If you want to leave me, than I'm not going to fight, because you're just not worth it." He looked at me like I'd just spoke up for the first time in my life, when I hadn't. I'd gotten in trouble all the time back home, standing up for myself. I'd just never done it in front of him.

"I...just give me a minute, okay?" He said, before jumping off of his bar stool, causing it to wobble, about to fall over. I reached out and steadied it, as the door slammed. I watched through the front window, as he sat there on the front step for a little while. I didn't want to move, and I couldn't. I'd thought he was The One. I know how cheesy that sounds, and how it never really turns out that way in real life, but I'd actually thought that. I had been almost positive, but I was wrong. He might be _my_ One, but I wasn't _his_ One.

I closed my eyes for a minute, and heard the sound of his engine. He was leaving. His minute had turned into an eternity. I was alone. I was by myself. I was alone, except for me, and the thing inside.

Some shitty birthday this is turning out to be.

I sat in the kitchen for I don't know how many hours, until I realized that I should get rid of the test, before my dad got home and saw it. I went outside, suddenly feeling chilled, even though the thermometer by the door said it was ninety three. I tossed the test in the neighbors garbage, hurried into the house, and went straight to my room, where I stayed for the next three days, all by myself, wrapped in the covers, nearly sweating to death. I couldn't sleep without him there, so I never rested, but I was extremely alert, I wasn't tired. It could be the countless amount of sugar my dad kept offering me, in attempt to get me to eat something, but I didn't want to believe it was.

On the third day, dad seemed to have gotten fed up with my hermit-ing, because at ten in the morning, my door opened, and he came in, looking angry.

"Steph, get dressed. You're going to work with me. You stayed in here long enough. You need to do something."

"What? No! I'm not going to work with you!" Miley would probably be there. I couldn't see her right now. It would only make it worse.

"You're coming with me whether you like or not." He ordered, pulling my sheets down to the end of the bed.

I hate my father. I'm blaming him for everything that has gone wrong in my life.

I tried to stay in the car when he got out, but dad wasn't having any of it. He pulled me out, by the arm. He was a lot stronger than I'd thought he was.

I was drug down the hallway, to the conference room down in the back, making a big scene out of it. I didn't want to be here, and I was going to fight until he let me go. I wasn't going to stay here when _she'd_ be here.

I kept whining, and dad kept his grip on my arm. He really wanted me to stay here, but I didn't. Eventually, he was stopped in the hallway by a man I didn't recognize, and his grip loosened. That's when I ran. I took off down the hallway, my stomach churning, and he didn't follow me. He'd obviously given up on me, in more ways than one.

I hadn't taught about how I was going to get home, when I'd planned to run, so I wasn't paying much attention when I ran through the lobby, running into Mr. Stewart as I did so. He gave me a completely evil look, and I looked away instantly, not wanting to see her face in his, because I knew I couldn't deal with that.

I slid to a stop the second I got through the doors, when I saw the one person who wouldn't care how upset I was when she was intent on blaming me for something. She didn't see me for a minute, but when she did, the smile on her face disappeared, and she hung up her phone.

"You!!" She yelled at me, pointing like an idiot, alerting all of the people standing around.

I just stood there, frozen in my spot, trying to get my legs to move again. My chest rose slowly, evenly, and I stayed calm, as she came up to me, angry as hell.

"I HATE YOU! I really, _really_ HATE you!" She was starting to cry now, and I was feeling even worse. "I hope you burn in hell!"

I bit my lip. I didn't want to say anything that I would regret.

"You set me up with that ass, and now I...now I...I have...I have Gonorrhea, okay? He gave me Gonorrea. But you knew that. That was why you set us up, right? You just love destroying things, don't you? You love destroying me, and now you have." She didn't seem to care that the people around us heard what she'd said. The old Miley wouldn't have said that in front of people. The old Miley would even _have _Gonorrhea. The old Miley wasn't an exact replica of me.

"There aren't words to express how sorry I am. If there were, I would say them, but I know you wouldn't except my apology.

"You're damn right I wouldn't. Don't you see what you did to me?"

"I do, I do. I've screwed up everything. I screwed up you, I screwed up myself, I..." I lowered my voice. I couldn't tell Hannah this. It wouldn't be the same. "Miley I...I'm pregnant."

"Good. I HOPE YOU DIE HAVING THE DAMN THING!" She screamed in my face, her face soaking wet, bright red, and more angry than I thought a face could be. She looked like she was about to say something else, but she didn't, and turned to enter the building behind me, instead.

"So do I!" I called after her, as the door slammed behind her. All of the people around were staring , and I felt like they were closing in on me.

I found myself in my room, not quite sure how I'd got there, but not caring, as long as I was home. My entire world was crashing down around me, and it was ALL my fault.

I sat on the floor in the living room, with a permanent marker in my hand. I rolled up the legs of my pants, and started writing all over myself. "You fucking idiot" and "Burn in hell" were probably the nicest things on there, but they were all things I wanted to hear. Things I needed to hear. I was such a horrible person. I hope I die of ink poisoning.

...

"You're so beautiful." He whispered in my ear, as his fingers combed through my hair, over my scalp, and down my back, where they paused, at the bottom.

"That's a lie. I'm a horrible person. Beautiful doesn't describe any part of me." I replied, squeezing my legs tighter around him. I rested my chin on his bare shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around me, rubbing my back.

"I'm a terrible person too." He whispered back, as his lips found the hollow under my ear, and his tongue traveled the length of my neck. I only sat there, the horrible person I was. He didn't care though. His hands found many places of my body that they'd never touched before, and I stayed still. I didn't feel right, doing this, after what had happened.

"Steph? Are you okay?" He asked me.

"Yes." I answered, before going along with what he wanted. There was no point in resisting anymore. I didn't care.

He noticed the disappearance of my resistance, and responded to it in a way that forced me to quit breathing.

"Should we be doing this? It doesn't seem safe." He commented, continuing to do what he was doing anyway, gently lowering me down on his bed.

"It doesn't matter." I whispered, before I let out a continuous moan, unable to speak, as he entered my body, my soul, and my future. I waited a moment to continue. "We shouldn't let what's wrong and right stop us. It's too late."

The feeling of his sweaty skin rubbing against mine was so familiar, yet so different. I liked it. His hands explored my chest, but then they paused. He quit moving, and I waited for him to say something.

"Why you and me?" He asked. I knew what he meant, even if he made no sense.

"Because we're exactly alike." I answered, as he lifted himself off of me, far enough that he wasn't smashing me, but staying close enough that his warm skin still touched me. "Trevie, both of us know what remorse is. And neither one has ever felt it."


	11. Chapter Once

**_I'm not so sure WHY I'm even asking this...but what do you guys think of a sequel? I have ideas for it...but i'm not so sure I want to write it...but if you REALLY want it...I will probably write it..._**

I'm surprised I even wrote this chapter this soon. I've been wanting to for like, ever now, but I keep putting it off...I'm too excited for what will probably be the last chapter...which will probably be the next one, or the one after that. I'm going for the latter, but you never know.**_

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_**

My eyes snapped open in a split second, like I hadn't just been asleep, having the worst nightmare of my life. My stomach churned, and I leapt out of bed, before sprinting to the bathroom and experiencing a particularly bad bout of morning sickness.

I hated being pregnant already, and I couldn't be more than a month or two along. I hadn't seen a doctor, but I wasn't showing, which meant that either I was about to birth the reincarnation of one of the seven dwarfs, or I hadn't been with child for longer than a couple of months.

It didn't really matter how far I was, because for the rest of the months, and all of the years after that, I'd surely be doing this myself. I'd be doing this all by myself, without Lex. Sure I'd have my dad, but I hadn't even told him yet, and I couldn't be sure that he'd react in a calm way. My mom was out of the question. If I looked up to her for anything, this kid would end up like me, and I wouldn't wish that on anybody.

I hadn't decided yet if I even wanted to tell my mom. She deserved to know, but I was still mad at her, and having this one little detail that I knew I didn't have to give her made me feel so much better.

I wasn't a better person than she was. We were horrible in our own ways, but I felt worse. My dream tried to prove that. Then again, the dream also showed me how much better I was now. What happened in my dream could've been reality only a couple of months ago. Now I wouldn't dare to sleep with Trevor, especially after Lex and I had just broken up. No idiot that knew what I knew about him would sleep with Trevor. The end of the dream, what I had said, it made no sense to me._ "Both of us know what remorse is. And neither one has ever felt it." _I knew what remorse was, that was correct. I did, however feel it. I wouldn't feel so bad about this if I didn't, would I? This was remorse, right?

I sat on the floor in my bathroom, thinking about how different my life was going to be because of all of these bad choices. I'd chosen the wrong guy, and now this baby had no father. I'd chosen the wrong things to do and say, and now I had no friends to help me. I'd been a horrible daughter, my dad wouldn't help me. The last thing I'd said to my mother was not nice in the least, and now all I had was myself, and the regret inside.

I was a horrible person, and that was that. This baby didn't deserve to have a mother like me.

The morning sickness decided, after a small break, that it wasn't finished, and I threw up in the toilet bowl again. My hands gripped the edge of the bowl so hard that my fingers were turning pure white. I hated this, I absolutely hated this. I hated myself. I hated myself for getting myself into this. It was ALL my fault.

Several minutes later, I decided there was no risk in leaving the bathroom, so I went out to the living room and laid on the couch. I stared at the ceiling for I don't know how long, until my stomach started growling. I wanted to remain here and starve myself until I died, but that wouldn't be fair to a baby.

I got up and grabbed a piece of bread and some cheese, and returned to the couch, where I ate my small meal. I didn't feel like eating right now, I felt sick. Every possible use of the word sick fit me. I was a sick, sick person.

The rest of the day went pretty much the same. Eat, throw up, eat throw up. I felt like I had the stomach flu or something. I couldn't keep any meal down. It's not morning sickness. It's every moment of your miserable life sickness.

The next morning, when I woke up, I didn't throw up until nearly lunch time. I was sure it was just teasing me, and I'd get much worse any minute, but I didn't. I was thankful for that, since I had to work later, but then again, I wanted to be sick. I wanted to call in sick, because I was once again schedules to work with Lex. It'd be much to awkward, and I wasn't sure if I could work and resist the urge to punch him in the face at the same time.

I tried to watch TV, to get my mind off of it, but of course, there was nothing on when I needed it. I mostly sat around, worrying myself sick, for the rest of the day. I postponed getting ready until I couldn't loiter any longer without being late. I didn't want to think about work at all, and getting ready made me think about it.

I pulled on my khaki pants and my navy blue shirt as quickly as I could, trying not to think about how in a couple of months, I wouldn't fit in them, and quickly pulled my hair into a sloppy ponytail.

By the time I was ready, my dad's driver was outside, waiting for me impatiently, blasting music that you wouldn't suspect a man in a tux to be a fan of.

I climbed into the passenger seat, and looked out my window, wishing he'd roll his window up. It was blowing my hair in my face, which annoyed me.

When he pulled up to the shoppe, I climbed out as quickly as I could, and forced myself to go inside. I signed in and went straight to the office, which, thankfully, was empty. I didn't want to see Lex yet. I wasn't so sure coming to work was a good idea in the first place. Seeing him would only stress me out, and stress was not good for somebody in my current situation.

I signed myself in, lying about the time I'd come in, saying I'd gotten here five minutes earlier than I actually had, and sat down in one of the chairs. I slowly dug through my purse, trying to find my name tag.

I quit procrastinating eventually, and left the office, with my apron and name tag both on. When I saw who I'd be working with though, I stopped in my tracks. It wasn't Lex. It was some blonde girl that was not him. I'd seen her working here before, but I'd never gotten the _pleasure _of working with her.

"What are you doing here?" I asked her, sounding more rude that I'd meant to.

"Oh, Lex called me a couple days ago and asked if I'd switch days with him. He said something about a vacation. Why? Didn't he tell you?" She asked me cheerfully, as she attempted to take down a five gallon bucket from a shelf that was much to high for her stubby arms to reach.

"We don't exactly talk that much anymore." I told her, before reaching up over her to take the bucket down myself. I shoved it into her hands a little too forcefully, and she thanked me, before setting it down on the counter behind her, and asking,

"You broke up?" I wanted to punch her right then and there. I hated her already, and I barely knew her. I knew I had a reason to be emotional, but I don't think that was an excuse for this. She was acting like she had a right to talk to me like that, and she didn't.

It turned out I didn't have to be around Amber, as her name tag stated she was called, that much. She sat in the office, on her cell phone, for most of the night, after I'd gotten there. She kept bothering me though. When my phone would ring, she would answer it! She kept going through my stuff, and she wasn't exactly hiding it.

I didn't mind working by myself, it kept my mind off of things I didn't want to think about, but when it started getting busy, I started getting pissed off at her. When I'd ask her to help me, she'd ring one person up, and go back to the office, leaving me to make all of the ice cream and take all of the rest of the orders by myself. I didn't bother to keep asking her, it was her that would be getting fired.

I was completely fed up with her shit by the time the rush ended. I was about ready to go into the office and drag her out by the ear, when she came out to help me. Unfortunately, there were no customers when she came to help, which meant she was left to the clean up. She attempted to put things away, but she only made a bigger mess, and put everything away in the wrong place.

When she went to put away the cherries, she knocked over the bucket of wasted ice cream with the door, and it spilled all over the floor, leaving a huge puddle of brown crap on the floor. It made me sick, looking at it, so I looked the other way and didn't bother to help her clean up.

Once she had cleaned it up, using about fifteen rain forests worth of paper towels, I made myself some ice cream, and ate it by the register, watching her attempt to tidy things up.

"Aren't you going to help?" She asked me, wiping off the counters.

"Nope." I said, sticking another spoonful of vanilla ice cream with hot fudge, caramel, and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups in my mouth. "I made the mess. The least you could do is clean it up." I told her, smiling as I watched her work.

An old couple with a young boy came up to the register just then, so I had to put my ice cream away to help them.

First, they took FOREVER to decide what they wanted, and kept asking obvious questions. Then, they sat down once they'd order, like they thought they didn't have to pay for it. I stood behind the register for several minutes, looking like an idiot, waiting for them to come up with six dollars and eighty-three cents in all dimes, nickels, and pennies.

I was growing extremely impatient by the time the old man wobbled up to the counter, to give me the money, one coin at a time. I shoved it all into the register and quickly made their ice cream, before giving it to them with a dirty look on my face. They didn't look too happy, and then then they mumbled something about me not giving them what they'd ordered, when ten minutes before, I'd had to explain what the stuff was! I was extremely pissed by the time they sat down, near the counter, which made it worse, seeing as I couldn't vent without them hearing it.

I wanted to go home _so_ bad. I had a headache now, my stomach was bothering me, and my arms were covered in fucking chocolate syrup. I wanted more than anything to go home and sit in my bath tub until I dissolved.

I crossed my arms on the purple counter, next to the register, and rested my head on them, closing my eyes. A couple minute later though, I was rudely interrupted.

"Hey Steph." A familiar voice greeted me. I looked up slowly, and saw Trevor Greenwood standing in front of me.

"Why do you keep showing up here?" I asked him.

"What? A guy can't like ice cream?" He asked, smiling at me. It was a little awkward, seeing him after all of the things we'd done in my nightmare.

"It'd be best if you left." I told him calmly, resting my head on my arms again.

"Why? Your boyfriend here?" He asked, leaning across the counter, to see who was in the back.

"I strongly suggest you leave, before I leap across this counter and strangle you, in front of all these old farts." I warned him, receiving a dirty look from the old lady at the table to Trevor's right.

"Sorry. Touchy subject."

"It's not a touchy subject. I just hate you." I replied, curling my lip slightly.

"Why?" He asked.

"Because of what you did to Miley, okay? Because of what _I _did to Miley, and because of what _you _did to her because of me."

"Huh?" He asked, like the idiot he was.

"You gave her fucking Gonorrhea, Trevor. Nobody _likes_ that."

"Hey, it's not my fault you set me up with her. It's not my fault she gave in so easily. And I definitely didn't know I had it at the time, so-"

"Trevor, I know it's not your fault. It's my fault, but that doesn't mean I can't hate you!" I hissed, trying to keep my voice down.

"Well if it's your fault, why am I being blamed?" He asked, obviously not doing the same thing.

"I'm not-" Then, I was rudely interrupted.

The old lady at the table next to the counter suddenly shoved her water bottle in my face, like I wasn't talking to somebody, and _she _wasn't being rude.

"Fill this for me." She ordered, shoving it at me.

"No! Fill your own damn water bottle you old hag! You have perfectly good hands, and there's a puddle right over there. It's not like you have to worry about germs, you look like you already died!" I snapped, yelling at her. Everybody in the immediate area stared at me, their jaws practically down to the floor. The old lady just stared at me, before quickly ushering her family away.

"Ooooh...somebody's getting fired..." Amber mused, somehow finding the situation funny.

"You know what? I don't care. I'm glad I don't have to work with a bitch like you, so shut the fuck up and leave me alone!" I yelled at her, before yanking my apron off, throwing it at her, and climbing over the counter with tears pouring down my face.

I ran down the road, getting about two blocks away before I stopped. I knew running wasn't exactly the healthiest thing to do in my situation, what with all the bouncing, but it was all I could think of doing.

I walked the rest of the way home - I got a ride to work every day more because of the boredom of walking, rather than the distance - and unlocked the door with the extra key my dad had hid by hanging it on a nail behind one of the porch lights.

I ran inside and straight to my room. I climbed in bed and lay there, crying, for what seemed like forever, until something warm crawled in next to me and said,

"I'm sorry."

I didn't care if he was really there or not, I needed Lex right then, so I'd take him either way.

I fell asleep easily that night, with the arms that were possibly a figment of my imagination wrapped around me.


	12. Chapter Doce

_**Okay guys, long author's note. You don't really have to read it if you don't want to. **_

_**This is kind of sad for me. This story is rapidly ending(next chapter unless I change my mind). I actually am gonna miss writing it, which says something, cause I haven't been that interested in my own fics lately. I enjoyed this one, which is weird, cause I usually don't even read OC stories, since the characters usually have practically no background, and appear in the story only to steal somebody's man, or just because. Half the time I'm trying to read this stuff, and I'm like, "WTF, that was funny! Why are they acting so serious!?" haha "Why so serious?" OMG IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE DARK KNIGHT, GOOOOOOOOO!! COUGH. Yeah, sorry bout that...didn't get much sleep.**_

_**You probably didn't notice that I deleted some stuff...but uh, yeah, I did. Namely uh, let's see...names... Corruption, Dear Norma, Dissolution, and uhhh...what was the last one? Oh, Remember, third in the Speak series. **_

_**Hehe I can't say that they will ever be reposted...I DID save them...but in the journey from my old computer to the new one, they were somehow corrupted, and I cannot open the documents now. So yes.**_

_**Lastly, I apologize for how long it took me to get this chapter up. It took me over a week longer than usual to write, I was stuck on just one little part for like, forever, and almost broke my keyboard in half and tossed the whole dang computer out the window. That's how frustrated I was. I'm making up for it with an extra long chapter!  
**_

_**Disclaimer:**_ _**Hista sia yma isclaimerda.**_

* * *

Early the next morning - I'm not sure what time exactly, the body next to me was blocking my view of the glowing red numbers on my alarm clock - I woke up. Just like that, I couldn't sleep anymore. My eyes refused to close, they insisted on staring at the ceiling.

It took me a while to realize that the body lying next to me, with it's warm, strong arms wrapped loosely around my stomach, was not a figment of my imagination, like I had previously thought. He lay there, breathing lightly. While I was not asleep, he was.

I remained enclosed in his arms, not wanting to move and wake him, confusing myself by thinking about what was going on more than was really necessary.

This told me that he wanted to get back together, but then again, I could be wrong. Had we ever actually "broken up" anyway? Maybe he'd gone insane and come back to me because that was all his brain remembered. I'm not really sure about his parents, I STILL hadn't met them, and I was carrying their son's child. Thinking about how little I actually knew about him depressed me all over again.

So I lay in bed, in the darkness, both of us breathing so quietly that I could barely hear it, thinking through every possible -although unlikely- reason why he was in my bed again, without coming up with a single valid possibility. I wasn't sure what else to do. It was this or wake him, and I wasn't so sure I wanted to do that. He'd never really been a morning person.

But maybe I should wake him. I was still mad, he didn't need to just disappear the way he did. I felt, all of a sudden, like screaming in his face; My mood had changed that quickly.

Luckily for him, I didn't _have_ to wake him. His breathing started returning to normal, and I realized that he was waking up. I turned on my other side as smoothly as I could, and got in his face. I knew _I _hated it when I woke up with people in my face. Why the fuck do they feel the need to get that close anyway? Are they trying to wake you with their onion breath or something?

If I wasn't trapped by his arms, I wouldn't be this close to him. I would be in the kitchen, looking for something loud that could go off in his face.

I realized just how furious I was, sitting there staring at him, waiting impatiently for him to wake up. He had yelled, blamed me, and then run off without an explanation when I needed him the most, and he was expecting me to take him back? My life was falling apart, and he had just run away before a chunk of it fell on his head and knocked him out.

Lex's eyes fluttered open softly, and he saw me. A smile appeared on his face, but I held my angry expression.

"Get out." I said adamantly, and his smile disappeared and his arms retracted. I was free to stand up, so I tossed the covers back and climbed out.

"What?"

"I _said, _get out." I replied, pointing at the door, raising my voice a little bit. I knew I could be as loud as I wanted. Today was a Tuesday, and dad always went to the gym before work on Tuesdays.

"But..but Steph, I-"

"Get out!" I yelled even louder.

"Please, Stephie, don't be like this. I'm sorry, I was stupid."

"You're right, you were. Now get the hell out of my house!"

He didn't say anything, but sat upright, dangling his feet over the side of my bed. I let out a loud grunt, and left the room. I could hear his footsteps, trailing me.

"Please, Steph, I shouldn't have-" He started, following me down the stairs.

"GOD DAMMIT LEX GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE RIGHT NOW!" I screamed at him, throwing the door open and pointing out.

"WHY ARE YOU SO MAD, I SAID I WAS SORRY!" He screamed back at me, shutting the door with one, much stronger, hand.

"SORRY ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH!"

"Then what _is_?" He asked, calming down. I tried to do the same, but my eyes started watering anyway.

"Nothing." I replied, crying. "Nothing is good enough, Lex. You yelled at me, and you blamed me for it, and then you just left, without saying sorry, or even talking to me about it. I can't forgive that."

"Please Steph, give me another chance. I shouldn't have done what I did, and I won't do it again."

"None of that means anything to me, Lex. You don't have to love me for me to forgive you, but you do have to be sorry. And you're not."

"What the fuck, I just _said _I was sorry like five times."

"But you didn't mean it!" I yelled, prying his hand off the door and opening it again.

"Now get out, before I call the cops on you!"

"For WHAT? I haven't touched you!"

"Try telling that to the cops when they find out I'm having your baby. I was only 16, and you're almost 19, Lex, I swear to GOD I will call the cops and tell them you raped me if you don't GO NOW."

He ran his hand through his hair, frustrated, and stepped out onto the porch, turning around and sticking his hand out to stop the door at the last second, as I tried to slam it in his face.

"I _do _love you, Steph." He said quietly. I only stared at him, trying to find some way to determine that he was lying, unsuccessfully.

"You don't." I told him, tears escaping my usually dry eyes again.

He stared at me, a tiny smile appearing on his face.

"You don't believe that."

"No, no, no I do, I do." I stuttered, wiping my eyes, smearing the makeup I hadn't bothered to wash off the night before.

"Steph, honestly."

"Okay, you _did. _Not now." I admitted, turning around and leaving the door open in front of him. Next thing I knew, there was a hand on my arm, and he spun me around to face him, before his lips attached to mine. My tense muscles relaxed as one hand traced my jawline,and the other released my arm, finding it's way to the small of my back, as he steered me towards the wall behind me. His hands were on both sides of me as I was pressed up against the wall, until the right one dropped to my side, and ran up the edge of my momentarily flat stomach. It took me a moment to realize that I was kissing him back, and when I did, I pushed him away.

"Please, not now. Just, please go. I need to be alone. I still, I have to figure out a way to tell my dad, and I can't do that with you here, so just, just go."

He looked depressed when he muttered, "Okay, I guess...I'll see you later?"

"Yeah, sure. Later." I mumbled, looking down at the floor, not wanting to see the look on his face anymore.

He turned around and headed for the door, while I stood there, watching the floor hold still.

"Steph?" He said, from the doorway.

"Yes?" I asked, finally looking up at him.

"You know I love you now, right?" I smiled sheepishly at him, and mumbled "Yes."

Grinning, he replied with,

"Good. Goodbye."

I sat on the couch eating Doritos for several hours, trying to decide the best way to tell my dad about the baby, and coming up with nothing. Once the bag of chips was empty, I decided I'd just tell him, and get it over with. It couldn't be _that _hard. All I had to do was say "Hey dad guess what? I'm pregnant, I'm going to bed, goodnight!"

Cracking my knuckles, I stayed on the couch, waiting for him to come home. Those long hours seemed even longer when I was nervous, and I nearly had an anxiety attack when I heard his door slam outside.

He came inside, sighed, and set his things on the counter, before coming into the living room and sitting down in his recliner, across from me, with his eyes closed.

"Dad?" I squeaked. He opened his eyes and looked at me.

"Yes?"

"I'm pregnant."

"What? You? Stephanie, I can't believe- This is some kind of joke, isn't it. You aren't serious?"

"I took the test dad, I am forshizz up the spout." He looked confused.

"What?"

"You've obviously never seen Juno..." I mumbled.

"Is that the one about the dog?" He asked, much calmer than I had expected he'd be.

"No dad...that's Cujo..."

"Oh."

"So you're not...mad?"

"I am, but...well, Steph, to tell you the truth...You're your mother's daughter. I kind of expected it." That's nice to know. My father thinks I'm a slut, yippee.

"Oh...okay..." I mumbled. I'd expected a fight, so I wasn't quite sure what to say.

"Have you been to the doctor yet?" He asked me, awkwardly, avoiding eye contact.

"No. I wanted to wait until I told you."

"Oh, alright then. We'll have to get you an appointment, then." He told me, closing his eyes again.

"Yeah."

Right at that moment, it hit me like a soaking wet burlap sack full of bricks, falling from the sky. I didn't know my own father, and he didn't know me. I'd lived with him for several months now, and we barely knew each other. He was always at work, and I was always out of the house, or, if I was home, locked in my bedroom.

"Dad?" I asked, and his eyes fluttered open once again.

"Yes?"

"You're disappointed in me, aren't you?"

"You know I can't say no."

"This is _not _the time for this to be happening. I was so stupid. School is starting on Thursday, and I'm pregnant and unemployed."

"Unemployed?" Dad looked more awake now. I'd forgotten that I had only just lost my job, and not had a chance to tell him yet.

"I, uh...I was having a bad day...and I kind of...ummm...flipped out...on one of the customers. Nobody's called and told me I was fired...but I don't think they want me back..."

"_Stephanie._" Dad grumbled angrily. "Do you know what responsibility _is_?"

"Yes dad, I do! I've already ruined several lives, I don't need _you _ruining _mine!" _I yelled at him, unable to control myself, before getting up and running to my room.

I burst into tears and crashed on my bed, thinking about how screwed up my life was. I realized then that what I'd said to my father had made no sense whatsoever. He hadn't ruined my life, _I _had. Just like I ruined Miley's and Lex's. I was a messed up person, and now everything was going wrong because I had destroyed it.

...

I didn't get the point of going to the doctor this early. It's not like he told me anything I didn't already know. "You _are _pregnant." No shit Sherlock, the morning sickness and positive EPT sure didn't tip me off.

Possibly the only thing I got from the appointment was the knowledge that I was about four weeks along. I didn't want to be at the movies, thinking I had several weeks left, and all of a sudden pop out this alien baby in some guy's jumbo bucket of popcorn. They probably wouldn't let me back in there.

That was the _only _thing I felt I needed to go to the doctor's office for. I just needed him to tell me when I could get rid of the thing. I wanted so badly for it all to be over with, but I had _so _long to go.

I hate the doctor's office with a burning passion. Nothing good ever happens inside that place. Either you _were_ sick, and they've been distracting you by sticking needles, nasty medicine and whatnot in you, while they stuck their slimy little fingers in your wallet, or you still _are_ sick, and these overpaid geeks are the only thing that can save you.

The way the nurses look at you is the worst. Like they've never been sick. They looks the aim my direction is maddening. You'd think they'd never seen a teenager in this part of the building. Well I've got news for you, sisters. I'm not the only one this happens to.

The first doctor's visit was absolute torture, what with the bald overweight idiot with the cold hands that called himself doctor, and the bill my father made me pay myself, but strangely enough, I had looked forward to the most next appointment. I wasn't so sure why, it's not like I _wanted _to be a mother. I'd rather they kept the sex from me, I didn't want to know when it was time to give it away. I just wanted to pop the little booger out and hand it over to people that would _surely _be better parents than Lex and I. What would make me happy was if I could just get it out and forget it ever happened. That's all I wanted.

While the disgusting jelly crap was being smeared all over my stomach, I watched Lex. He'd decided to come with me to get the ultrasound done, even though I'd told him he didn't have to. It wasn't like it was really our baby. It was somebody else's. I was only the microwave to their popcorn. I was no mother, just an incubator. A stupid, irresponsible incubator.

Lex knew I didn't plan to keep the baby, but he wanted to be involved in my pregnancy. I suppose he felt guilty because of how he'd reacted when he'd found out, but I didn't have the courage to ask him why he was still hanging around, in fear that he'd decide he didn't want to, and take off again.

I worried that he was getting too attached to something he didn't even want in the first place, something that hadn't breathed its first breath, something that wasn't born yet. He'd been so sure that he didn't want it, from the begining, and now I was nervous that he had changed his mind.

"Lex?" I whispered to him, noticing how green his face was turning. He looked up at me, blinking. "Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yeah." He tried to assure me, his voice cracking.

"I thought we agreed on giving it up Lex, are you changing your mind?" I asked him, ignoring the woman with the jelly shit.

"No, it's not that..I just...this stuff...smells bad..." I knew he was lying, but I wasn't up to getting the truth out of him, and let it slide, as the large woman standing over me stuck the machine to my stomach and started moving it around.

Lex put his hand over his eyes for a second, and ruffled his hair, distractedly. Something had to be up with him. I'd have to force it out of him later.

"Oh...wow."

"What? If you tell me there's fifteen heads in there, I swear to GOD, I will kill somebody."

"No, it's not that." The woman said, looking up at me with an eyebrow raised. "There's only one head. It's just that you appear to be a couple weeks further along than we thought." I let out a sigh of relief, glad that there was only one thing inside me. Lex's face seemed a more human shade, when I glanced at him.

Once I was gel free and upright, Lex drove me home. He appeared to be paying much more attention to the road than he usually did.

"Lex are you sure you're okay?" I asked him for what seemed like the hundredth time, sticking my finger through one of the many button holes on my dark green shirt.

"I'm fine." He grumbled.

"Are you sure? You've been acting weird, I don't want to-"

"STEPHANIE." He used my full name. It was not a good sign. "I'm fine. Leave me alone."

"_Sorry. _You didn't have to come if you didn't want to. I wouldn't have let you come if I'd known you'd act like this." I mumbled. He looked at me with hatred burning in his eyes, and I felt tears welling up in my own. I blinked and looked away, staring out my window.

I tried to conceal my sobbing, but he obviously knew I was crying. I figured he'd just chalk it up to my hormones making me too emotional, which, it probably was, but he didn't.

"I'm sorry Steph. I'm just not having a good day. It has nothing to do with you or the ba-thing." He apologized, catching himself toward the end. He knew I hated it when he said baby. I didn't want to think of it as that. I didn't want to think of it as a human. To me, it had to be a thing, an it, otherwise, I'd decide I didn't want to give it up, and that wouldn't be good for anyone. I would make a horrible mother.

Lex suddenly pulled the car over to the curb, put it in park, and shut off the engine. He turned to me and said,

"Marry me. I don't have a ring or anything, but I can get one. I know this jeweler in south-"

"Lex." I interrupted. "I'm not gonna marry you."

"What? Why not?" He asked me, looking greatly disappointed.

"Because you only want to do it because of _this_." I motioned to my stomach, and continued. "Frankly, I don't see why you're even asking, because it's not like we're keeping it anyway. You don't have to marry me, nobody's forcing you."

"Steph. I'm not asking because of that, and I _know _nobody's forcing me. I'm asking you because I want to."

"You didn't really even ask. You practically ordered me to."

"I don't want you to marry me because I knocked you up. I want you to marry me because I love you, Steph. We'd be so happy together, it'd be so-"

"Lex! Don't even try to tell me that this didn't make you say that. You would never in a million years ask me to marry you if I wasn't about to have your...baby." My eyes started watering as I said what I knew out loud. "Besides, we wouldn't be happy." I added, rubbing my right eye.

"Why do you think that?" Lex asked, sounding shocked.

"Look what we're fighting about!" I shrieked hysterically, tears pouring out of my eyes now.

"Steph, everybody fights."

"Not like us." I mumbled.

"Yes like us. You know what? While I grew up, my parents never fought. Not once. They hardly acknowledged each other, barely knew each other at all, and _that _is why my dad's an alcoholic living in New Hampshire, while my mom is blacking out her credit cards in Colorado. If I didn't have an uncle that actually cared about whether I died or not, I'd probably be living on the streets" I wiped my eyes, smearing the mascara I'd actually bothered to put on that morning, and looked at him, shocked. He _never _talked about his parents. I'd always assumed that they just enjoyed traveling, and that was why they hadn't been home for me to meet, but in all actuality, they didn't even live around here.

"You...If your parents don't live here...how can you afford that house?"

"That uncle I mentioned? He's kinda rich. That's his beach house, and he's let me live in since I was sixteen, even though I deserve nothing from him."

"Oh..." I mumbled.

"We're nothing like my parents, Steph. That won't happen to us."

"You're trying to tell me that I should marry you because we _fight a lot? _Lex, I'm only 17. I can't legally marry you without my dad's permission, and I'm pretty sure he won't give it."

"We don't have to do it _now_. We can wait however long you want."

"I _don't _want to do it now. So don't ask me until we both want it." I told him.

"Okay. Fine. I won't ask again." He replied, his voice flat as he turned the engine back on.

"Lex, just because I won't marry you doesn't mean I don't love you. I'm just not...ready. I'm not ready for _any _of this." I swung my arms around. "That doesn't mean I won't be some day...just not now."

"Yeah, okay. Fine." He said, in the same tone as before, as he reached for the gear shift. I reached out to stop him with my left hand, and unbuckled my seat belt with the other, before leaning over the console and attaching my lips to his. He seemed hesitant at first, but seconds later, he started kissing me back, weaving his fingers through my messy hair. His tongue forced it's way between my lips, and I pulled away, staying close enough that I could press my forehead to his.

"You should take me home now." I whispered.

"Yeah." He whispered back, waiting for me to buckle my seat belt again before he put the car back in drive.

...

Three months later, I stopped by Mannie's to see Lex. He'd offered to try to get my job back, but I'd turned him down. I hadn't liked it there that much anyway. Besides, what was the point, I'd only be rude and get myself fired again anyway.

Much to my, and her, displeasure, Amber was working with Lex this evening. She definitely didn't look happy to see me, but then again, nobody did anymore.

"Hey babe." Lex greeted, leaning over the counter into the vacant dining area out front and kissing me lightly on the lips. I absolutely adored the look on Amber's face, and had to try very hard to stop myself from smiling.

Lex disappeared behind the counter, and came back with a hot fudge sundae with extra hot fudge, something he knew I loved.

"Here you go." He said, handing it to me, with a smile on his face to match mine.

"Aww, thanks."

"She has to pay for that, you know." Amber chimed in. Lex rolled his eyes and leaned towards me.

"It's okay. You can pay me back sexually." He assured me.

"You wish."

"I _do_ wish. And my wishes shall be granted." He replied, joking around.

"_Shall?_ Since when do you say shall?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Since my wish to speak with an English accent was granted."

"You don't _have_ an English accent."

"Well...I speak English. Tis the same thing."

"Whatever. If you think I'll let you touch me at ALL anytime in the near future, you are sadly mistaken, my friend."

"Oh, so now I'm your friend? My definition of friendship is horribly wrong then. It was much less dirty too...I'm scarred for life now, thanks a lot." Lex said, the tone of his voice horribly serious.

"You're welcome." I replied, smiling at him.

"You've got some...hot fudge, on your teeth" He said, pointing at my mouth, "right there...at least, I HOPE it's hot fudge...if it's not...you can forget ever kissing me again."

"Then let's hope it's dog shit." Amber mumbled under her breath.

"It totally is, you want some? I have a bag in my back pocket, I'm sure it's more appetizing than the celery you eat and then throw up every day." She glared at me, and then gave Lex a pleading look, begging him silently, to stop me from being mean to her.

"Are you gonna let her talk to me like that?" Lex looked at me, and then back to her.

"Yes." He answered, like it was the dumbest question in the world. She made a loud, angry, unintelligible noise, and disappeared into the office.

"She's so jealous." I decided.

"Yeah. She wants a piece of _this._"

"I meant jealous of you." I joked.

"Oh great...now I work with a dog poop-eating lesbian. Maybe I should call the next lady that shows up an old hag and get myself fired!"

"Hey. We no speaky of that."

...

"Steph, somebody's at the door, can you get it? I'm kind of busy!" My dad called from his office. I grunted a reply and launched myself off the couch and towards the door, supporting my rapidly growing stomach with my left hand, and opening the door with my right.

On the other side were two people I didn't recognize. A boy and a girl, one blonde, one brunette. The girl had a suspicious smile on her face, and the boy looked as if the girl had forced him to come along with her.

"Ummm...hi?" I said, wondering if they were ever going to explain who they were, or why they were here.

"Hi, I'm Lilly, and this is Oliver." The girl introduced. "We're Miley's friends...and we want to talk to you."

* * *

_**I was totally planning on this intervention thinger to be in this chapter, but it got too long, so i had to cut it off...hehe.So anyways, if you care to comment on my cruelty (making you read so much at once) then do so. R & R!!  
**_


	13. VIP Author's Note

**_Okay guys. Sooooooo I know I said I was gonna finish everything before I left the site...BUT...I can't. I just can't write anymore. I'm never in a good enough mood to do it, and when I am in a good mood, I am far away from my computer, and therefore, cannot do it._**

**_I just don't feel like writing, ever. I've been forcing myself for several months now, and it's not working. _****_So yes, this means that I'm leaving the site, I think. I don't know if it's permanent...I might come back...I know the last time I said I was taking a break/leaving I only stayed away for a couple weeks, but I'm pretty sure I won't be able to write again for a while. I might POSSIBLY finish a couple of my stories over Christmas break, it depends on how bored I get, but seeing as I'll be getting my license over Christmas break, and will therefore be able to go to places more interesting than where I am right now...I don't know about that._**

**_My job, among other things, is stressing me out right now, so maybe by November, when I'll be officially unemployed, I'll be a little happier and can get back to this._**

**_So keep your fingers crossed, I guess._**


	14. Chapter Trece

**_Sooooooo...yeah, it's been a while. I said November though, and it's November! I still don't really feel all that up to writing, but I'm doing it anyway. I'm determined to finish this story._**

**_Anyway, since this is the last chapter, I'd like to thank all my reviewers (you can skip this if you want):  
Luvs-Mitchel-Musso, BeautifulxxDisasterx, schoolisboring, nazgurl92, . xJul, TiedTogetherWithASmile, StandUpToCancer, Vimmi99, Falrow, IrockHARDERthanYOU, Oo lovetoday oO, naughtynadia, RenesmeeScarlet, EmililyBabez, Moosecoo9, laughingoutloud4lyfe, snickers3339, ox'Jonas-Girl'xo, Le T.C, xXDramaMamaXx, MileyandJonas4ever, SoStephSays, Pretty-in-Pink-girl, and anybody else that will review in the future._**

**_Thanks to all the readers that didn't review too...well, sorta thanks, haha. I don't know if you actually liked it..._**

**_And to continue with my acceptance speech, (haha) I'd like to thank the following people for distracting me and making this story take forever and a day to finish: Millie! (Luvs-Mitchel-Musso), Lani! (BeautifulxxDisasterx), Alyssa! (daisy617), Jen! (SVUlover), Meg! (megomyeggo), Mari! (AlwaysxAddicted), and last but not least, (insert real name here) (GodzillaGuy). And Grace and Reigh too! We don't really talk that much, but I do get distracted easily, and by anyone. :p  
I know a few of you won't read this, but you've been mentioned! Thanks guys, I love you lots, and even though your distractions have kept me from finishing anything, I wouldn't take it back. :D_**

**_Oh! As for the ending. Blame Alyssa and Jen. They picked A._**

**_Anyway! Now you read. Please._**

* * *

That night, I had a dream. A dream that wasn't really a dream. It was more...a memory. Only the words in our mouths were different. Most of the time my dreams are highly unrealistic, and what happens in my head while I'm sleeping would never in a million years happen anywhere outside of that place. That was how this dream was different.

At first, I couldn't tell that it was a dream. The room I was in was so familiar, the bed felt just as soft as it always did, everything just looked so real. The sweat dripping down my back felt like actual sweat, and the sound of Lex breathing in my ear sounded so unbelievably familiar I couldn't help but think I was actually hearing it.

"You're so beautiful." He whispered to me, before his lips attached themselves to my neck again. The only thing different about this situation was my reaction. In the dream, I only sat there, keeping my arms wrapped tightly around him, but doing nothing else. While his lips pulled at the skin on my neck, I just stared straight ahead at the wall behind him.

It was then that the notion that it wasn't real came to mind. I knew from experience that Lex wouldn't be enjoying himself quite as much as he was at the moment if all I did was lay there.

The next thing he said is what assured me that I was imagining this.

"I hate you." He mumbled into my neck, in an ironically loving tone.

"What?" I asked breathlessly. He pulled back and stared into my eyes.

"I hate you, always and forever." His fingers passed lightly over my jaw, and he smiled at me.

"You hate me?"

"I do." He replied, before diving back in, pulling at my bottom lip with both of his. The dream me said nothing, and continued laying motionless on top of my bed, something the real me would never have done.

"I hate you very, very much." He said it so adoringly, like it wasn't a truly horrible thing to tell someone. The tone of his voice almost balanced out the words he was saying, and I momentarily forgot what I was doing. The extremely real feel of his skin rubbing against mine nearly intoxicated me. I could hardly believe that this was a dream, and didn't really want to.

"Why?" I asked him, once my voice came back to me.

"Why not?" He replied.

"Lex."

"Steph."

"You're not serious, are you?" I questioned, trying not to let the hurt show in my voice.

"I am. Why don't you believe me?" He asked, hoarsely, due to the lack of air in his lungs.

"I don't believe you because you're telling me that you hate me!"

"But I do!" Dream/Nightmare Lex argued.

"Don't you know what that means?" The real me wouldn't be arguing this much about such an obviously false statement, but the dream me wouldn't shut up.

"Yes I do. I feel very strongly about you." He whispered, even though were were alone. "I love you more than anything."

Waking up from a dream like that was slightly unsettling. It had confused me. By the end, I'd begun to understand that hate=love, but then he threw in that last part...

The last sentence of the dream ruined the whole thing. Just like a movie with a bad ending. It could've been just another wacky dream, but this one seemed to mean something. The whole time he kept saying "I hate you, I hate you" but then it changed. What if all the real "I love you"s ended up that way? What if they meant nothing? Maybe he'd show up here today to tell me that he hated me, and ruin it all, ruin my life, like that last line had ruined the dream. What if this was a sign? What if he showed up to my house right now to tell me that he hadn't meant all the "I love you"s he'd been laying on me for so long.

Thinking about things always got me worked up. Thinking was only appropriate in school. If I started thinking about things outside of school, only bad things came to mind, and I convinced myself that they were true. I'm sort of a pessimist.

I took a deep breath, and wiped my watering eyes. It wasn't true. I was being stupid. But what if it was? What if he had some other girl somewhere, who he actually was truthful to when he said "I love you?"

I couldn't tell if the churning in my stomach was coming from the thing growing inside it, or if it was from being too emotional.

I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of my bed, still breathing deeply. I was fine. I was going to be okay. It was all going to end well.

I wiped my eyes again and set my feet on the cold floor. I felt like finding some socks, but my socks were all in the bottom drawer of my dresser, and I rarely felt like bending over anymore, so I decided to suffer, and let my feet freeze.

Hoping that it would be warmer in the living room, I stood up and wobbled through the doorway and down the hall, with one hand supporting my stomach and the other on my sore back. The fat whale that I was, I sat my sorry ass on the couch with a loud thump.

I was so huge. It was a wonder I didn't break the couch, sitting here, or even fall through the floor and down into the basement. I stared at the TV, wondering how I could turn it on without getting up to grab the remote off the stand it was sitting on. There seemed to be no other way, other than to move, and that wasn't what I wanted to do.

I dug my hand into the cracks in the sofa, possibly because I was hoping that the remote on the stand was a hallucination, and that I'd find the real one inside the couch. Sadly, all I found in there was lint and some long-lost moldy crackers. I grabbed one of the crackers and chucked it at the power button on the TV. I missed, and the cracker crumbled.

I let out a huge sigh, and stared at the blank screen, remembering what had happened on this very couch the night before.

The girl, Lilly, had sat where I was now, while Oliver, the other one, had leaned against the arm rest, too uninterested to actually sit down. I'd been right about him being drug along.

"I think you know why we're here." Lilly had stated, holding her hands in her lap while her eyes wandered around the room, making sure to stay away from me.

I sat down in my dad's armchair and copied her, resting my hands on my stomach. "Can you explain anyway?" I asked her, trying to sound polite.

"Well...We-" Oliver looked away. "don't know if you really thought that doing what you did to Miley would be okay with us, but it definitely isn't. Miley is my best friend." I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "We've-What are you rolling your eyes for?"

"I'm sorry, keep going." I appologized, thinking back to all the complaining Miley had done back when she and Lilly weren't getting along.

"No, tell me. What's so funny?"

"It's just that...well, you weren't her best friend when she was complaining about you to me..." I stated, before looking away. When I glanced back at her, she gave me a dirty look, and moved on.

"Anyway...you've screwed up her life, and you're going to pay for it."

"I already have."

"Oh yeah? How?" Lilly had demanded.

"I lost _my_ best friend." I couldn't help but to put emphasis on my.

The look on Lilly's face, and even Oliver's, after I said that, showed that they were even more angry than I had thought possible.

"_Listen here, missy_." Lilly hissed, moving to the edge of the couch like she was about to stand up. "You don't know the first thing about being a friend. Friends don't do what you did to her."

"You know what else they don't do?" I asked, slowly pushing myself up out of the armchair. "Friends don't blow each other off just because they're not exactly like you. Friends are there for each other, always. Your bad habits don't matter when it comes to friendship, because friends love each other, no matter what. No matter what you do, no matter how you act."

"Oh yeah, because you sure loved her. You loved her so much that you ruined her. You turned her into some alcoholic, disease ridden...bitch. You turned her into..."

"Me?" I asked quietly, staring into her face as she tried to think of another way to insult her 'best friend.'

"_Yes_. You turned her into you." Lilly spat.

"You don't have to tell me that what I did was wrong. I know it was wrong, and I regret it more than anything. I would drink a gallon of bleach if it meant that I could take it all back. I wouldn't feel that way if she wasn't important to me, right? I do love her very much. She was my best friend, no matter how she acted, or what she did. If she was really your best friend like you say she is, you wouldn't care how she acted. You would be trying to help her, instead of standing here, yelling at me. Yelling at me will not do anything. I already feel worse than you can make me feel."

I was slightly out of breath, from talking so much, but I tried to breathe quietly, waiting for her reaction. She stared at me, not saying anything. My feet were already hurting, from standing up for the two minutes I'd been out of the chair.

"Lilly...I think we should go." Oliver whispered, finally speaking up. Lilly's head rotated slowly like it was going to go all the way around, and she glared at him, making his expression change from one of boredom, to one of fear.

"I think he's right. I don't want you in my house when you're going to insult me. You can come back later when you're not so angry, but for now, I want you out of here."

Then, Lilly turned on her heel, and marched out of the house, slamming the door behind her, before Oliver could make it through. The door opened and closed one more time, and I sunk back down into the couch.

When I'd gone to bed that night, I had told myself that, in the morning, when I wasn't so tired, and I wasn't so upset with myself, I would go see Miley one last time. I would go tell her exactly how sorry I was about what I'd done, and somehow, I would get her to forgive me. I'd laid in my bed, thinking of every little thing I would say to her.

This morning, I woke up, and couldn't remember any of it. I couldn't think of anything intelligent to say that would make even the slightest difference. I had no excuse for what I'd done, and "I'm sorry" isn't _anywhere near_ good enough, considering just how badly I'd treated her.

And so I sat on the couch, trying to tell myself that it would be worth it to at least try to talk to her one last time. Unfortunately - or fortunately, (it depends on how you look at it) I couldn't get up, nor could I convince myself that it really _would_ be worth it.

The longer I sat on the couch, the more uncomfortable it got. It was like it was turning to stone underneath me. I was so uncomfortable that I was actually starting to get up, when there was a knock on the door. I slowly sank back down onto the straight-out-of-the-Flinstones sofa, no longer wanting to get up. I didn't like the door anymore. Bad people came in through it, bad people went out through it, and people that had been made bad went in and out too.

The person on the other side knocked even louder, and I tried to look around the stairs to see who it was through the window on the door. All I could see was an arm, which narrowed it down to pretty much everybody I knew, minus my Great-Uncle John. Sadly, because of some war accident, he didn't have legs either, and his torso wasn't long enough for his only arm to reach the window.

The knocking continued, and that's when I noticed the pattern this person was knocking in. Getting up from the couch, I went to the door, listening to Best of Both Worlds: Knuckles to Door Version, while I walked.

I opened the door, and there she was. Red-eyed, messy haired, and completely out of it.

"_Miley_?" I whispered, praying to God that this was just a hallucination, and that the real Miley was somewhere else, being a perfectly good, pre-destruction version of herself.

She tried to fix her bad posture, at the sound of my voice, and stared right at me.

"Stephie!" She garbled, stepping into the house without permission, just as she always had. She tried to give me a hug, and I stood there stiffly, letting her (seeing as if she wasn't drunk I would never be getting this from her) until something hard hit me lightly in the back. I pushed her back, and snatched the bottle out of her hand.

"Hey!" She yelled, reaching for the bottle. I held her bottle behind me, while I pushed her off with my other hand, and closed the door with my foot.

"What are you doing with this?" I asked her, trying not to be angry, seeing as I had no right whatsoever to be mad at her.

"Drinking it, duh."

"Why?" I asked, feeling my recently familiar tears starting to come out.

"Because I want to! Give it back!"

"No! I started you on this, the least I can do is help you stop."

"I don't _WANT _to stop!" She argued back.

"Yes you do!" She calmed down a little, still glaring at me, and let me steer her to the sofa. She sat down on it, leaned back, and closed her eyes. I stood there in front of her, waiting for it all to wear off, and for her to start yelling at me again. It didn't happen in a split second, like I'd imagined it would, as she just remained on the couch, sleeping.

While Miley snored, I took the bottle of alcohol into the kitchen, and started making myself a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. I slowly ate the sandwich, sitting in dad's armchair across from my sleeping ex-best friend, who had moved into a more comfortable, horizontal position.

Spacing out, with my eyes attached to her face, seemed to make the time go by faster. I forgot about eating the rest of my sandwich for at least an hour, and when I finally came back to life, it was cold. I ate it anyway, as Miley started moving a little. The second I shoved the last bite into my mouth, her eyes opened.

They were less red than before, but looked _way _more angry.

"What am I doing here?" She asked, as calmly as I could expect her to be.

"I've been wondering the same thing. You just showed up at the door about an hour and a half ago."

She closed her eyes and started rubbing the space between her eyebrows, with her head down.

"Can I get you some Aspirin?" I asked her quietly. She looked up at me, and spat,

"I don't want _anything _from you."

"Miley I'm sorry. I'm more than sorry. I'm so sorry that there isn't a word for it. I would do _anything _to take it all back. I was being stupid, I was being dumb, I was being retarded, irresponsible, and immature. I was-"

"-doing it because you wanted to. I don't care how sorry you are, sorry isn't good enough. And you can wish that you could take it back all you want, but you can't. It's over and done with, and there's nothing you can do. I hope you're happy." She stood up, squinting from the bright lights. I flipped the switch, but she didn't stop squinting.

"I'm not happy at all. I feel so bad that...that...Miley if I didn't have this thing I would kill myself." I said quietly, not bothering to motion to my stomach. She knew what I was talking about.

"Well I hope it ends well." Was all she said, before she stormed out of the house, too angry to even bother slamming the door.

I started crying again, and softly closed the door, before taking my grilled cheese plate into the kitchen. I set it in the sink, and saw, with my peripheral vision, the bottle Miley had arrived with.

The second time that somebody knocked on the door, I was too sick to get up. I was sick in every sense of the word. I couldn't believe that I'd done what I'd done. I'd sat on the floor, with my back against the wall, praying and praying and praying, that it was all just a dream, and that I was imagining this migraine.

When the knocking stopped and the door opened, I nearly had a heart attack. I would be in SO much trouble, no matter who it was that caught me.

"Steph!" Lex's voice called up the stairs, and bounced its way back donwstairs, to me. I tried not to let out a terrified sob, but I was unsuccessful, and gave away my position.

He slowly came into the kitchen, and saw me sitting there behind the never-used dining room table.

"Steph..." That's when he saw it. "What'd you...what'd you do?" He asked, the fear in his voice showing.

In my head, I kept repeating "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry" but I wasn't too sure that it was coming out of my mouth. All I could hear was my own crying.

Lex slammed down onto the floor right in front of me, and grabbed my wrists.

"WHAT DID YOU DO? DO YOU _KNOW _HOW DANGEROUS THIS IS?" He let go of one wrist to pick up the empty bottle next to me. I couldn't do anything except cry, even though I knew just what effect that had on him. I tried to calm down, but I couldn't, and his face showed more and more anger as I kept bawling.

"How stupid could you be?!" He yelled again, causing my sobbing to go into overdrive. Before I could stop myself, I threw up, right in front of him. He backed away from the puddle of vomit between us, and stood up. He put his face in his hands, and turned around. He ran his fingers through his hair, and turned back around to face me. He tossed the chair in front of me out of the way, and stuck out his hand. I grabbed it, and he pulled me up to my feet.

"How about you go rinse yourself off, and then I'll take you to the doctor, to see how much damage you've done." He suggested, much calmer than I'd expected him to be.

He helped me down the hall to the bathroom, and got me undressed and in the bath tub, before leaving to go clean up the kitchen.

Sitting in the water, I thought about drowning myself. I mean, I'd probably already killed the baby, I deserved it in so many ways. But drowning myself would involve effort, and I felt so horrible that I could hardly move.

When Lex came back, all I'd done was get my hair wet. That was good enough, he decided, before helping me out and into some clothes he'd taken from my room.

He squeezed a black and white horizontally striped t-shirt over my gigantic stomach, and helped me into a pair of grey sweatpants, before he drug me out of the bathroom, handing me a purple sweatshirt jacket to put on.

We drove to the hospital in silence, and he helped me out of the car, squeezed the water out of my hair, and then steered me inside.

I sat in a chair next to a giant fake tree, while Lex talked to somebody at the front desk. The lady stared at me as she pointed Lex down the hallway, and I could feel her eyes following me down the hallway as I waddled, with help from Lex, to the place she'd directed us to.

Lex hurried me to the doctor, who was waiting in the hallway for us by the time we'd gotten there. He gave me a funny look, and took me into the room he was standing outside of. After that, everything went by in such a blur that I couldn't remember any of it. I simply nodded when it was appropriate, and otherwise sat there, being a good patient.

"I think you'll be okay," the doctor announced, "but we'll do an ultrasound anyway." Lex seemed much calmer now, and I know I felt much better. Well, as good as I could, what with the ginormous migraine I was experiencing, and the whole The World Hates Me For Ruining Hannah Montana thing.

I wasn't so sure how a ultrasound would help, seeing as the alcohol would've affected it's brain. The doctor seemed to know what he was doing though, so I kept my comments to myself.

Several minutes later, I was laying on the familiar table, with the ultrasound technician in front of me. She was getting everything ready, while I just attempted to ignore the stomachache I had.

"So how far along are you?" The tech asked me. She was _much _friendlier than the last one had been.

"Umm..." I mumbled, trying to remember what exactly today's date was.

"8 months." Lex answered. I smiled weakly at him, and he squeezed my hand back, a gesture that relieved me greatly. My stomachache got worse, and I squeezed his hand harder.

"Okay..." The tech mumbled, all of her stuff in order. I noticed that she had a weird look on her face. "Let's hope everything in here looks good."

"Mmhmm." I mumbled, closing my eyes.

Just as she was about to squirt the jelly onto my stomach, I felt a sharp pain, and let out an "Ahhh!" The next thing I heard was

"Oh my god!" and then Lex's hand disappeared from mine, as the pain got worse.

"What? What's going _on_?" the last word came out as a squeak, as the pain stopped me from breathing for a moment.

"Sweety, your water just broke." The technician announced, just as Lex yelled out the door,

"Help!"

The pain finally went away, and I let out a deep breath, letting the words I'd just heard sink in.

"A month early?" I squeaked. The technician only nodded, as she tried to help me off the table, just as the doctor from before came into the room.

I don't know how much later, I was in a different room, laying on an actual bed, feeling much better, if you don't count how nervous I was.

"You alright?" Lex asked me for the five hundredth time.

"Yes. I'm fine." I mumbled again.

"You sure?"

"Yes I'm sure! Shut the fuck up!" I yelled, failing at hiding the most recent contraction. Lex simply put his hand out for me to squeeze, until it was over.

"I'm sorry." I whispered to him, once I let go of his hand.

"Don't be. I'm sure it hurts." I was silent for a minute, looking away from him.

"Not just for that." I replied. "For everything."

"It's okay, Steph. It'll all be fine." Lex assured me.

A couple of minutes went by, before I replied.

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes. It'll work out the way it's supposed to." He smiled at me, just as a nurse came in to check on me. She stared at her clipboard for a minute or two, and then looked up at me.

"Doing okay?" She asked me.

"Yeah." I replied, running my fingers through my _still _wet hair.

"How far apart?" She asked, like I had a stopwatch in my head.

"Umm...I don't k-when was the last one, Lex?"

"Uhhh...about 3:20, I think."

"And what time is it now?"

"3:34" The nurse replied.

"14 minutes, then." I told her, reaching out for Lex's hand again.

"Alright. Just a little while longer then. You have some visitors out in the waiting room, would you like to see them real quick?" She asked me.

"Umm...yeah, I guess." It would only be my dad anyway.

She left the room, and I set my head back on the pillow.

"Wait, did she say _visitors? _As in more than one?"

"Umm...yeah..." Lex mumbled, standing up.

"Where are you going?"

"I'll give you a couple minutes. Yell if you need me."

He had to squeeze out the door, since at the exact moment he was leaving, Miley was coming in.

"Sorry." She mumbled. He nodded at her and disappeared.

"Hey Steph." She said quietly.

"Umm...hi." I wasn't so sure what I should say.

"Hey listen, about what I said earlier...I'm...well I'm not sorry, I can't say that I forgive you, but...what I said was out of line. I didn't have to be so mean about it."

"No, it's okay, I deserved it."

"No, Steph, you really _are _sorry, and I need to believe you when you say that. I mean, what you did...I can't forgive you, but I know you feel bad about it."

"Thanks Miley. I....feel better now." I told her. She smiled, and the familiar pain of a contraction came back. "Ahh! Nevermind!" Miley grabbed my hand and called for Lex for me. I didn't want to squeeze her hand off, after she'd finally begun to hate me less, but I couldn't help but squeeze her hand just as hard as Lex's.

He came running back into the room, and took Miley's place.

"Uhh, who else is out there? The nurse said I had visitors. Is my dad here yet?" I asked, trying to ignore the pain.

"No, he's not. Sorry...umm, Trevor followed me here, he's been trying to apologize and stuff so...that's who the other person was."

"Oh." I tried not so sound as disappointed as I was, but when pain was controlling my voice, I couldn't.

"Lex!" I yelled, which seemed to frighten Miley, as she jumped in surprise. Lex came rushing back into the room. "This is bad. This one _is worse_." I squeaked out as the pain got worse.

The next minute, Lex and I were alone in the room with the doctor. I felt really uncomfortable with him looking at my lady parts, so I tried to just look at Lex.

The doctor's head popped back into view, and he announced,

"It's time."

Time, for me, meant that it was time for everything to fall apart again. An hour of pain later, the avalanche started when the delivery room was silent. No crying. No nothing. The nurses all ran off with the baby, while the doctor finished up his job.

"Lex? What...what's wrong?" He couldn't look at me. He was facing the other way.

"God Steph." He mumbled. I kept the confused look on my face, until the doctor explained.

"The baby was stillborn...I'm really sorry for your loss." And that was it. I had killed the baby. An hour of stupidity had led to an eternity of death for the baby I'd been carrying. Now somebody was out a child, and the child was out a life. I couldn't believe myself. I was so shocked I couldn't even cry.

I stared at the ceiling, until I was back in my room, by myself. Lex had chosen to stay out in the hallway.

I closed my eyes until the door opened again. This time it was my dad.

"Oh Stephanie I'm so sorry. I should've been here earlier. Honey it'll all be okay, we'll get through this."

"You being here wouldn't have changed anything, dad." I assured him.

Dad tried to make me feel better, but after he was ignored the whole time, he left. That was when Lex came back in.

"Lex I'm sorry, I didn't...I don't know what I was thinking, I was so, so stupid."

"You _were_ stupid Stephanie. You were beyond stupid. You _killed _that baby. It's dead because of you!"

"I know! I know I know I know! You don't have to tell me, I know I'm a murderer! It's my fault, okay? I know that."

"You're unbelievable Steph. We were _this _close, and you had to ruin it."

"Why don't you leave? If all you can do is blame me I don't want you here."

"Fine. I will. I can't stand to be around you at all." He claimed.

"You don't mean that Lex..." I whispered.

"I do. Have a nice life Steph." And then he walked out. That's when I finally started crying. Harder and harder and harder, until my dad could hear it from outside. He came back in and held my hand, even though he didn't know what for.

There was a knock at the door, disturbing my misery, and the doctor came in again.

"Ms. Larson, I hope you're okay." He sat down in one of the chairs next to my bed and said.

"I want you to know that nothing you did today hurt the baby. You were 8 months along, but the baby wasn't that developed. You lost the baby about a month ago, not today."

"I...it's...so it's not my fault?"

He explained what happened in medical terms that I couldn't understand, but I ignored him and got out of bed, ignoring how much it hurt. It wasn't my fault. I had to tell Lex.

I ran down the hallway, every step hurting, and made it to the front floor in my hospital gown, just as Lex's car shot out of the parking lot. My dad and the doctor were shouting after me, but it didn't matter anymore. He was really gone.

It's not like he would have believed me anyway.

Dad put his arm around me and steered me back towards my room. We passed Miley as we went down the hallway, and I was surprised to see that she was still there. She gave me a weak, sympathetic smile as I walked by her.

Everything was gone now. I still didn't have my best friend back. I had no baby, no boyfriend. I didn't have anything.

So much for happy endings.

**_Well, I must say, the ending didn't turn out as I had planned, but I am happy that I finally finished something!_**

**__**

Thanks again, everybody!

Review like the wind, Bullseye!


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